i 


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FRINGILL  A 


Of  this  Edition,  on  Hand- 
made Paper,  Six  Hundred 
Copies  were  printed.  This  is 

No.   


Copyright,  1895,  by  The 
Burrows  Brothers  Company 


PREFACE 

(Fringilla  loquitur)  — "  "What  means  your 
finch?"  Being  well  aware  that  he  cannot 
sing-  like  a  nightingale,  He  flits  about  from 
tree  to  tree,  and  twitters  a  little  tale. 

ALBEIT  he  is  an  ancient  bird,  who  tried  his 
pipe  in  better  days  and  then  was  scared  by  ran- 
dom shots,  let  him  take  his  chance  of  lead  or 
hail,  if  once  more  he  may  flutter  through  the 
thickets  he  delights  in.  All  gardeners  own  that 
he  does  no  harm,  unless  he  flips  into  a  fountain 
of  young  buds,  or  a  very  choice  ladies'  seed- 
bed. And  he  hopes  that  he  is  now  too  wise  to 
commit  such  indiscretions. 
Perhaps  it  would  have  been  wiser  still  to  have 
shut  up  his  little  mandible,  or  employed  it  only 
upon  grub.  But  the  long  gnaw  of  last  winter's 
frost,  which  set  mankind  ashivering,  even  in 
their  most  downy  nest,  has  made  them  kindly 
to  the  race  that  has  no  roof  for  shelter  and  no 
hearth  for  warmth. 

Anyhow,  this  little  finch  can  do  no  harm,  if 
he  does  no  good ;  and  if  he  pleases  nobody,  he 
will  not  be  saddened  by  it,  because  he  has  never 
satisfied  himself. 
May-day,  iS95. 


Buscombe  and  The  Well  of  Saint  John  are  re- 
printed, with  additions  and  corrections,  from 
Harper's  Monthly  Magazine/*  with  kind  con- 
sent of  Messrs.  Harper  cc  Brothers. 


LIST  OF  CONTENTS 

Preface  5 

Prologue  —  Lines  to  My  Pen  —  i 854  t  J 
Lita  of  the  Nile  s  a  Tale  of  Ancient  Egypt  — 

Part  I  15 

Part  II  25 

Part  ffl  33 
Pausias  and  Glycera ;  or,  the  First  Flower- 
Painter  — 

Scene  I  45 

Scene  II  49 

Scene  III  57 

Kadisha ;  or,  the  First  Jealousy  — 

Part  I  69 

Part  II  79 

Mount  Araf a  — 


The  Parting  91 

Part  I  —  Adam  95 

Part  II  —  Eve  101 

The  Meeting  107 

The  Well  of  Saint  John  113 

Buscombe ;  or,  a  Michaelmas  Goose  Ml 

Epilogue  —  Lines  to  Fame  —  1894  129 


PROLOGUE 


(1854^ 

|HOU  feeble  implement 
of  mind,  Wherewith  she 
strives  to  write  her  name, 
But,  like  a  mitcher,  leaves 
behind  No  signature,  no 
mark,  no  claim,  No  hint 
that  she  hath  pined  — 
Shall  ever  come  a  stronger 
time,  When  thou  shalt  be 
a  tool  of  skill  And  steadfast  purpose,  to  fulfil  A 
higher  task  than  rhyme  ? 

n 

Thou  puny  instrument  of  soul,  Wherewith  she 
labours  to  impart  Her  aims  at  some  too  ar- 
duous goal,  But  fails  to  bring  thy  coarser  art 
Beneath  a  fine  control  —  Shall  ever  come  a 
fairer  day,  When  thou  shalt  be  a  buoyant 
plume,  To  soar,  where  clearer  suns  illume, 
And  fresher  breezes  play? 

ffl 

Thou  weak  interpreter  of  heart,  So  impotent  to 
tell  the  tale  Of  love's  delight,  of  envy's  smart, 
Of  passion,  and  ambition's  bale,  Of  pride  that 
dwells  apart  —  Shall  I,  in  length  of  time,  attain 
(By  walking  in  the  human  ways,  With  love  of 
Him,  who  made  and  sways)  To  guide  thee,  not 
in  vain  ? 

IV 

If  so,  thou  shalt  be  more  to  me  Than  sword,  or 


sceptre,  flag,  or  crown ;  With  mind,  and  soul, 
and  heart  in  thee,  Despising  gold  and  sham 
renown;  But  truthful,  kind,  and  free.  Then 
come;  though  now  a  pithless  quill,  Uncouth, 
unfledged,  indefinite,  —  In  time  thou  shalt  be 
taught  to  write,  By  patience  and  good-will. 


LITA  OF  THE  NILE 


LITA  OF  THE 
Parts)   Part  I 


NILE  (A  Tale  in  Three 


IP 

^^A  v 


I 

|ING  and  Father,  gift  and 
giver,  God  revealed  in 
form  of  river,  Issuing  per- 
fect and  sublime  From 
the  fountain-head  of  time, 
Whom  eternal  mystery 
shroudeth,  Unapproach- 
ed,  untrack'd,  unknown ; 
Whom  the  Lord  of 
heaven  encloudeth  With  the  curtains  of  His 
throne,  From  the  throne  of  heaven  descending, 
Glory,  power,  and  goodness  blending,  Grant  us, 
ere  the  daylight  dies,  Token  of  thy  rapid  rise." 

n 

Ha !  it  cometh  —  furrowing,  flashing,  Red  blood 
rushing  o'er  brown  breast,  Peaks,  and  ridges, 
and  domes,  dashing  Foam  on  foam,  and  crest 
on  crest.  'T  is  the  signal  Thebes  hath  waited, 
Libyan  Thebes,  the  hundred-gated ;  Rouse,  and 
robe  thee,  River-priest,  For  thy  dedication  feast. 
Follows  him  the  loveliest  maiden  Afric's  thou- 
sand hills  can  show ;  White  apparel'd,  flower- 
laden,  With  the  lotus  on  her  brow. 

m 

Votive  maid,  who  hath  espousal  Of  the  river's 
high  carousal ;  Twenty  cubits  if  he  rise,  This 
shall  be  his  bridal  prize.  Calm  and  meek  of 
face  and  carriage,  Deigning  scarce  a  quicker 


breath,  Comes  she  to  the  funeral-marriage,  The 
betrothal  of  black  death.  Rosy  hands  and  hen- 
naed fingers,  Nails  whereon  the  onyx  lingers, 
Clasped,  as  at  a  lover's  tale,  In  the  bosom's 
marble  vale. 

IV 

Silvery  scarf,  her  waist  enwreathing,  Wafts  a 
soft  Sabaean  balm;  Like  a  cloud  of  incense, 
breathing  Round  the  column  of  a  palm.  Snood 
of  lilies  interweaveth  (Giving  less  than  it  receiv- 
eth)  Beauty  of  her  clustered  brow,  Calmly  bent 
upon  us  now.  Through  her  dark  hair,  spread 
before  us,  See  the  western  glory  wane,  As 
in  groves  of  dim  Cytorus,  Or  the  bowers  of 
Taprobane ! 

V 

See  —  the  large  eyes,  lit  by  heaven,  Brighter 
than  the  Sisters  Seven,  (Like  a  star  the  storm 
hath  cowed)  Sink  their  flash  in  sorrow's  cloud. 
There  the  crystal  tear  refraineth,  And  the  founts 
of  grief  are  dry ;  "  Father  —  Mother  —  none  re- 
maineth ;  All  are  dead ;  and  why  not  I?"  Yet, 
by  God's  will,  heavenly  beauty  Owes  to  heaven 
alone  its  duty;  Off,  ye  priests,  who  dare  ad- 
judge Bride,  like  this,  to  slime  and  sludge. 

VI 

When  they  tread  the  river's  margent,  All  their 
mitred  heads  are  bowed ;  What  hath  browned 
the  ripples  argent  Like  the  plume  of  a  thunder 
cloud  ?  Where  yestre'en  the  water  slumbered, 
With  a  sickly  crust  encumbered,  Leapeth  now 

16 


a  roaring  flood,  Wild  as  war,  and  red  as  blood. 
Every  billow  hurries  quicker,  Every  surge  runs 
up  the  strand ;  While  the  brindled  eddies  flicker, 
Scourged  as  with  a  levin  brand, 

vn 

Every  bulrush,  parched  and  welted,  Lifts  his 
long  joints  yellow-belted ;  Every  lotus,  faint  and 
sick,  Hangs  her  fragrant  tongue  to  lick.  Count- 
less creatures,  long  unthought  of,  Swarm  from 
every  hole  and  nook;  What  is  man,  that  he 
makes  naught  of  Other  entries  in  God's  book  ? 
Scorpions,  rats,  and  lizards  flabby,  Centipedes 
and  hydras  scabby,  Asp,  and  slug,  and  toad, 
whose  gem  Outlasts  human  diadem, 

vm 

Therefore  hath  the  priest-procession  Causeway 
clean  of  sandal-wood ;  That  no  foul  thing  make 
transgression  On  the  votive  maiden's  blood. 
Pure  of  blood  and  soul,  she  standeth  Where  the 
marble  gauge  demandeth,  Marble  pillar,  with 
black  style,  Record  of  the  rising  Nile.  White- 
robed  priests  around  her  kneeling,  Ibis-banner 
floating  high,  Conchs,  and  drums,  and  tambours 
pealing,  And  Sesostris  standing  nigh ; 

'■     '•  IX 

He,  whose  kingdom-city  stretches  Further  than 

our  eyesight  fetches  —  Every  street  it  wanders 

down  Larger  than  a  regal  town  —  Built  when 

each  man  was  a  giant,  When  the  rocks  were 

masons'  stones,  When  the  oaks  were  osiers 

pliant,  And  the  mountains  scarcely  thrones  — 

17 


Gty,  whose  Titanic  portals  Scorn  the  puny 
modem  mortals,  In  thy  desert  winding-sheet, 
Sacred  from  our  insect  feet. 

X 

Thebes  No-Amon,  hundred-gated,  Every  gate 
could  then  unfold  Cavalry  ten  thousand,  plated, 
Man  and  horse,  in  solid  gold.  Glancing  back 
through  serried  ranges  Vivid  as  his  own  pha- 
langes, Every  captain  might  espy  Equal  host  in 
sculpture  vie ;  Down  Piromid  vista  gazing,  Ten 
miles  back  from  every  gate,  He  can  see  that  tem- 
ple blazing  Which  the  world  shall  never  mate. 

XI 

But  the  Nile-flood,  when  it  swelleth,  Recks  not 
man,  nor  where  he  dwelleth ;  And  —  e'en  while 
Sesostris  reigns — Scarce  five  cubits  man  attains. 
Lo,  the  darkening  river  quaileth  Like  a  swamp 
by  giant  trod,  And  the  broad  commotion  wail- 
eth,  Stricken  with  the  hand  of  God.  When  the 
rushing  deluge  raging  Flung  its  flanks,  and 
shook  the  staging,  Priesthood,  cowering  from 
the  brim,  Chanted  thus  its  faltering  hymn : 

XII 

"  Ocean  sire,  the  earth  enclasping  Like  a  babe 
upon  thy  knee,  In  thy  cosmic  cycle  grasping 
All  that  hath  been,  or  shall  be ;  Thou,  that  art 
around  and  over  All  we  labour  to  discover; 
Thou,  to  whom  our  world  no  more  Than  a 
shell  is  on  thy  shore ;  God,  that  wast  Supreme, 
or  ever  Orus,  or  Osiris,  saw ;  God,  with  whom 
is  no  endeavour,  But  Thy  will  eternal  law : 

18 


xm 

"  We,  who  keep  Thy  feasts  and  fastings,  We, 
who  live  on  Thy  off-castings,  Here  in  low  obei- 
sance crave  Rich  abundance  of  Thy  wave. 
Seven  years  now,  for  some  transgression,  Some 
neglect  or  outrage  vile,  Vainly  hath  our  poor 
procession  Offered  life  and  soul  to  Nile.  Seven 
years  now  of  promise  fickle,  Niggard  ooze,  and 
paltry  trickle,  Freshet  sprinkling  scanty  dole, 
Where  the  roaring  flood  should  roll. 
XIV 

"Therefore  are  thy  children  dwindled,  There- 
fore is  thine  altar  bare;  Wheat,  and  rye,  and 
millet  spindled,  And  the  fruits  of  earth  despair. 
Men  with  haggard  bellies  languish ;  Bridal  beds 
are  strewn  with  anguish;  Mothers  sell  their 
babes  for  bread;  Half  the  holy  kine  are  dead. 
Is  thy  wrath  at  last  relaxing  ?  Art  thou  merci- 
ful, once  more  ?  Yea,  behold  the  torrent  wax- 
ing !  Yea,  behold  the  flooded  shore ! 
XV 

"  Nile,  that  now  with  life-blood  tidest,  And  in 
gorgeous  gold  subsidest,  Richer  than  our  victor 
tread  Stirred  in  far  Hydaspes'  bed,  When  thy 
dwelling  crest  o'erwaveth  Yonder  twenty-cubit 
mark,  And  thy  tongue  of  white  foam  laveth 
Borders  of  the  desert  dark,  This,  the  fairest 
Theban  maiden,  Shall  be  thine  with  jewels 
laden;  Lift  thy  furrowed  brow,  and  see  Lita, 
dedicate  to  thee!" 


21 


XVI 

Thus  he  spake;  and  lowly  stooping  O'er  the 
Calasiris  hem,  Took  the  holy  water,  scooping 
With  a  bowl  of  lucid  gem ;  Chanting  from  the 
Bybline  psalter  Touched  he  then  her  forehead 
altar ;  Sleeking  back  the  trickled  jet,  There  the 
marriage  seal  he  set.  44  None  of  mortals  dare 
pursue  thee,  None  come  near  thy  hallowed  side  j 
Nile's  thou  art,  and  he  shall  woo  thee  —  Nile, 
who  swalloweth  his  bride ! 

xvn 

With  despair's  mute  self-reliance  She  accepted 
death's  affiance;  She,  who  hath  no  home  or 
rest,  Shrank  not  from  the  river's  breast.  Haply 
there  she  shall  discover  Father,  lost  in  wilds 
unknown,  Mother  slain,  and  youthful  lover 
Seen  as  yet  in  dreams  alone.  Ha  1  sweet  maid, 
what  sudden  vision  Hath  dispelled  thy  cold  de- 
rision ?  What  new  picture  hast  thou  seen  Of  a 
world  that  might  have  been  ? 

From  Mount  Seir,  Duke  Iram  roveth,  Three 
renewals  of  the  moon ;  To  see  Egypt  him  be- 
hoveth,  Ere  his  life  be  past  its  noon.  Soul  and 
mind  at  first  fell  under  Flat  discomfiture  of  won- 
der, With  the  Nile  before  him  spread,  Temple- 
crowned  and  tempest-fed!  Yet  a  nobler  creed 
he  owneth  Than  to  worship  things  of  space: 
One  true  God  his  heart  enthroneth  —  Heart  that 
throbs  with  Esau's  race. 

22 


XIX 

Thus  he  stood,  with  calm  eyes  scorning  Idols, 
priests,  and  their  adorning ;  Seeing,  e'en  in  na- 
ture's show,  Him  alone,  who  made  it  so.  "  God 
of  Abraham,  our  Father,  Earth  and  heaven,  and 
all  we  see  Are  but  wings  of  Thine,  to  gather 
Us,  Thy  children,  back  to  Thee.  All  the  gran- 
deur spread  before  us,  All  the  miracles  shed  o'er 
us,  Echoes  of  the  Voice  above,  Tokens  of  a 
Father's  love." 

XX 

While  of  heaven  his  heart  indited,  And  his  dark 
eyes  swept  the  crowd,  Sudden  on  the  maid  they 
lighted,  Mild  and  haughty,  meek  and  proud. 
Rapid  as  the  flash  of  sabre,  Strong  as  giant's 
toss  of  caber,  Sure  as  victor's  grasp  of  goal, 
Came  the  love-stroke  through  his  soul.  Gently 
she,  her  eyes  recalling,  Felt  that  heaven  had 
touched  their  flight,  Peeped  again  through  lashes 
falling,  Blushed,  and  shrank,  and  shunned  the 
light. 

XXI 

Ah,  what  booteth  sweet  illusion,  Fluttering 
glance  and  soft  suffusion,  Bliss  unknown,  but 
told  in  sighs,  Breast  that  shrinks  at  its  own  rise  ? 
She  who  is  the  Nile's  devoted,  Courted  with  a 
watery  smile ;  Her  betrothal  duly  noted  By  the 
bridesmaid  Crocodile.  So  she  bowed  her  fore- 
head lowly,  Tightened  her  tiara  holy,  And,  with 
every  sigh  suppressed,  Clasped  her  hands  on 
passion's  breast. 

23 


i 


LITA  OF  THE  NILE  Part  II 

I 

IWICE  the  moon  hath 
waxed  and  wasted,  Lav- 
ish of  her  dew-bright 
horn;  And  the  wheeling 
sun  hath  hasted  Fifty 
days  towards  Capricorn.  I 
Thebes,  and  all  the  Mis- 
ric  nation,  Float  upon  the] 

  inundation;   Each  man 

I  shouts  and  laughs  before  Landing  at  his  own 
house-door.  There  the  good  wife  doth  return 
it,  Grumbling,  as  she  shows  the  dish ;  Chervil, 
basil,  chives,  and  burnet,  Feed,  instead  of  sea-j 
|soning,  fish. 

n 

Palm-trees,  grouped  upon  the  highland,  Here 
and  there  make  pleasant  island;  On  the  bark 
some  wag  hath  wrote,  "Who  would  fly,  when| 
he  can  float  ?  "  Udder'd  cows  are  standing  pen- 
sive, Not  belonging  to  that  ilk;  How  shall  horn I 
or  tail  defensive  Keep  the  water  from  their  milk  ? 
Lo,  the  black  swan  paddling  slowly,  Pintail 
ducks,  and  sheldrakes  holy,  Nile-goose  flaked,  | 
and  herons  gray,  Silver-voiced  at  fall  of  day. 


Flood  hath  swallowed  cEkes  and  hedges,  Lately] 
by  Sesostris  planned;  Till,  like  ropes,  its  matted 
edges  Quiver  on  the  desert  sand.   Then  each 
farmer,  brisk  and  mellow,  Graspeth  by  the  hand 


his  fellow;  And,  as  one  gone  labour-proof, 
Shakes  his  head  at  the  drowned  shadoof.  Soon 
the  Nuphar  comes,  beguiling  Sedgy  spears,  and 
swords  around,  Like  that  cradled  infant  smiling, 
Whom  the  royal  maiden  found. 

IV 

But  the  time  of  times  for  wonder  Is  when  ruddy 
sun  goes  under,  And  the  dusk  throws,  half 
afraid,  Silver  shuttles  of  long  shade.  Opens 
then  a  scene,  the  fairest  Ever  burst  on  human 
view ;  Once  behold,  and  thou  comparest  Noth- 
ing in  the  world  thereto.  While  the  broad  flood 
murmurs  glistening  To  the  moon  that  hangeth 
listening  —  Moon,  that  looketh  down  the  sky 
Like  an  aloe-bloom  on  high. 

V 

Sudden  conch  o'er  the  wave  ringeth !  Ere  the 
date-leaves  cease  to  shake,  All,  that  hath  exist- 
ence, springeth  Into  broad  light,  wide  awake. 
As  at  a  window  of  heaven  thrown  up,  All  in  a 
dazzling  blaze  are  shown  up;  Mellowing,  ere 
our  eyes  avail,  To  some  soft  enchanter's  tale. 
Every  skiff  a  big  ship  seemeth,  Every  bush  with 
tall  wings  clad;  Every  man  his  good  brain 
deemeth  The  only  brain  that  is  not  mad. 

VI 

Hark!  The  pulse  of  measured  rowing,  And 
the  silver  clarions  blowing,  From  the  distant 
darkness  break  Into  this  illumined  lake,  'T  is 
Sesostris,  lord  of  nations,  Victor  of  three  con- 
tinents, Visiting  the  celebrations,  Priests,  and 


pomps,  and  regiments.  Kings,  from  Indus  and 
Araxes,  Ister,  and  the  Boreal  axes,  Horsed  his 
chariot  to  the  waves,  Then  embarked,  his  galley- 
slaves. 

yn 

Glittering  stands  the  giant  royal,  Four  tall  sons 
are  at  his  back ;  Twain,  with  their  own  corpses 
loyal,  Bridged  the  flames  Pelusiac.  As  he  pass- 
eth,  myriads  bless  him,  Glorious  Monarch  all 
confess  him,  Sternly  upright,  to  condone  No  in- 
justice, save  his  own.  He,  well  pleased,  his 
sceptre  swingeth,  While  his  four  sons  strike  the 
gong ;  Till  the  sparkling  water  ringeth  Joy  and 
laughter,  joke  and  song. 

vm 

Ah,  but  while  loud  merry-making  Sets  the  lights 
and  shadows  shaking,  While  the  mad  world 
casts  away  Every  thought  that  is  not  gay  — 
Hath  not  earth,  our  sweet  step-mother,  Very 
different  scene  hard  by,  Tossing  one,  and  tramp- 
ling other,  some  to  laugh,  and  some  to  sigh? 
Wh  ere  the  fane  of  Hathor  lowereth,  And  the 
black  Myrike  embowereth,  Weepeth  one  her 
life  gone  by  —  Over  young,  oh  death,  to  die ! 

IX 

Nay,  but  lately  she  was  yearning  To  be  quit  of 
life's  turmoil,  In  the  land  of  no  returning,  Where 
all  travel  ends,  and  toil.  What  temptations  now 
entice  her?  What  hath  made  the  world  seem 
nicer?  Whence  the  charm,  that  strives  anew 

To  prolong  this  last  adieu  ?   Ah,  her  heart  can 

27 


understand  it,  Though  her  tongue  can  ne'er 
explain;  Let  yon  granite  Sphinx  demand  it  — 
Riddle,  ever  solved  in  vain. 

X 

No  constraint  of  hands  hath  bound  her,  Not  a 
chain  hath  e?er  been  round  her ;  Silver  star  hath 
sealed  her  brow,  Holy  as  an  Isis  cow.  Free  to 
wander  where  she  iisteth,  No  immurement  must 
defile  (So  the  ancient  law  insisteth)  This,  the 
hallowed  bride  of  Nile.  What  recks  Abraham's 
descendant,  Idols,  priests,  and  pomps  atten- 
dant ?  And  how  long  shall  nature  heed  What 
the  stocks  and  stones  decreed? 

XI 

"  Fiendish  superstitions  hold  thee  To  a  vile  and 
hideous  death ;  Break  their  bonds;  let  love 
enfold  thee;  Off,  and  fly  with  me/'  he  saith. 
44  Off  1  while  priests  are  cutting  capers  —  Priests 
of  beetles,  cats,  and  tapirs,  Brutes,  who  would 
thy  beauty  truck  For  an  inch  of  yellow  muck. 
Lo,  my  horse,  Pyropus,  yearneth  For  the  touch 
of  thy  light  form ;  Like  the  lightning,  his  eye 
burneth,  And  his  nostril,  like  the  storm." 

xn 

"What  are  those  unholy  pagans?  Can  they 
ride  ?  No  more  than  Dagons.  Fishtails  ne'er 
could  sit  a  steed ;  That  belongs  to  Esau's  seed. 
I  will  make  thee  Queen  of  far  lands,  Flocks,  and 
herds,  and  camel-trains,  Milk  and  honey,  fruit 
and  garlands,  Vines  and  venison^  woods  and 

wains.    God  is  with  us;  He  shall  speed  us; 

28 


Or,  (if  this  vile  crew  impede  us,)  Let  some 
light  into  their  brain,  By  the  sword  of  Tubal 


"Nay"  she  answered,  deeply  sighing  As  the 
maid  grew  womanish ;  "  Love,  how  hard  have 
I  been  trying,  To  believe  the  thing  I  wish. 
Thou  hast  taught  me  holy  teachings,  Where  to 
offer  my  beseechings  —  Homage  due  to  heaven 
alone,  Not  to  ghosts,  and  graven  stone.  Thou 
hast  shown  me  truth  and  freedom,  Love,  and 
faith  in  One  most  High;  But  thou  hast  not, 
Prince  of  Edom,  Taught  me,  there  withal,  to  lie. 


44  Little  cause  had  I  for  fretting,  None  on  earth 
to  be  regretting,  Till  I  saw  thee,  brave  and  kind, 
And  my  heart  undid  my  mind.  Better  if  the 
gods  had  slain  me  When  no  difference  could  be, 
Ere  the  joy  had  come  to  pain  me,  And  alas,  my 
dear  one,  thee.  But  shall  my  poor  life  throw 
shame  on  Royal  lineage  of  Amon?  'Tis  of 
Egypt's  oldest  strains ;  Kingly  blood  flows  in  my 
veins. 


44  Thou  hast  seen ;  my  faith  is  plighted  That  I 
will  not  fly  my  doom.  Honour  is  a  flower 
unblighted,  Though  the  fates  cut  off  its  bloom. 
I  have  sent  my  last  sun  sleeping,  And  I  am 
ashamed  of  weeping.  God,  my  new  God,  give 
me  grace,  To  be  worthy  of  my  race.  Though 
this  death  our  bodies  sever,  Thou  shalt  find  me 


Cain.1 


Xffl 


XV 


there  above,  Where  I  shall  be  learning  ever  To 
be  worthy  of  thy  love." 

XVI 

From  his  gaze  she  turned,  to  borrow  Pride's 
assistance  against  sorrow  —  God  vouchsafes  that 
scanty  loan  When  He  taketh  all  our  own.  Sud- 
den thought  of  heaven's  inspiring  Flashed  through 
bold  Duke  Iram's  heart;  Angels  more  than 
stand  admiring,  When  a  man  takes  his  own  part. 
'T  is  the  law  the  Lord  hath  taught  us,  To  undo 
what  Satan  wrought  us,  To  confound  the  foul 
fiend's  plan  With  the  manliness  of  man. 

xvn 

"Thou  art  right,"  he  answered  lowly,  As  a 
youth  should  speak  a  maid ;  "  Like  thyself,  thy 
love  is  holy ;  Love  is  hate,  if  it  degrade.  But 
when  thou  hast  well  surrendered,  And  thy  sac- 
rifice is  tendered  —  God  do  so  and  more  to  me, 
If  I  slay  not  who  slay  thee !  Abraham's  God 
hath  ne'er  forsaken  Them  who  trust  in  Him 
alway ;  Thy  sweet  life  shall  not  be  taken.  Rest 
and  calm  thee,  while  I  pray." 

xvni  _ 

Like  a  little  child,  that  kneeleth  To  tell  God 
whate'er  he  feeleth,  Bent  the  tall  young  warrior 
there,  And  the  palm-trees  whispered  prayer. 
She,  outworn  with  woe  and  weeping,  Shared 
that  influence  from  above ;  And  the  fear  of  death 
went  sleeping  In  the  maiden  faith  and  love. 
Less  the  stormy  water  waileth,  E'en  the  human 
tumult  faileth;  Stars  their  silent  torches  light, 
To  conduct  the  car  of  night. 

3° 


1 


LITA  OF  THE 


NILE 
I 


Part  m 


O,  how  bright-eyed  morn 
awaketh  Tower  and  tem- 
ple, nook  and  Nile,  How 
the  sun  exultant  maketh 
All  the  world  return  his 
smile.  O'er  the  dry  sand 
vapour  twinkleth  Like  an 
eye  when  old  age  wrin- 
kleth,  While  along  the 
watered  shore  Runs  a  river  of  gold  ore.  Tem- 
ple-front and  court  resemble  Mirrors  swung  in 
wavering  light,  While  the  tapering  columns 
tremble  At  the  view  of  ^their  own  height. 

Marble  shaft  and  granite  portal,  Statues  of  the 
gods  immortal  Quiver,  with  their  figures  bent, 
In  a  liquid  pediment.  Thence  the  flood-leat  fol- 
loweth  swiftly  Where  the  peasant,  spade  in 
hand,  Guideth  many  a  runnel  deftly  Through 
his  fruit  and  pasture-land;  Oft,  the  irriguous 
bank  cross-slicing,  Plaited  trickles  he  keeps 
enticing,  Till  their  gravelly  gush  he  feels  Over- 
taking his  brown  heels. 

m 

Life  —  that  long  hath  borne  the  test  of  More 
than  ours  could  bear  and  live  —  Springs  anew, 
to  make  the  best  of  Every  chance  trie  gods  may 
give;  Doum-tree  stiffeneth  flagging  feather, 
Date-leaves  cease  to  cling  together,  Citrons  clear 


their  welted  rind ;  Vines  their  mildewed  sprays 
unwind.  Gourds  and  melons  spread  new  lustre 
On  their  veiny  dull  shagreen ;  While  the  starred 
pomegranates  cluster  Golden  balls,  with  pink 
between. 

IV 

Yea,  but  heaven  hath  ordered  duly,  Lest  man- 
kind should  wax  unruly,  Egypt,  garner  of  all 
lore,  Narrow  as  a  threshing  floor.  East  and 
west  lies  desolation,  Infinite,  untrack'd,  untold  — 
Shroud  for  all  of  God's  creation,  When  the  wild 
blast  lifts  its  fold;  There  eternal  melancholy 
Maketh  all  delight  unholy ;  As  a  stricken  widow 
glides  Past  a  group  of  laughing  brides. 

V 

Who  is  this,  that  so  disdaineth  Dome  and  des- 
ert, fear  and  fate,  While  his  jewel'd  horse  he 
reineth  At  Amen-Ra's  temple  gate  ?  He,  who 
crushed  the  kings  of  Asia  Like  a  pod  of  colo- 
casia ;  Whom  the  sons  of  Anak  fled,  Puling 
infants  at  his  tread.  Who,  with  his  own  shoul- 
ders, lifted  Thrones  of  many  a  conquered  land ; 
Who  the  rocks  of  Scythia  rifted  —  King  Sesos- 
tris  waves  his  hand. 

VI 

Blare  of  trumpet  fills  the  valley;  Slowly  and 
majestically  Swingeth  wide,  in  solemn  state, 
Lord  Amen-Ra's  temple  gate.  Thence  the 
warrior-host  emergeth,  Casque  and  corselet, 
spear  and  shield,  As  the  tide  of  red  ore  surgeth, 
From  the  furnace-door  revealed.    After  them, 


tumultuous  rushing,  Mob  and  medley,  crowd 
and  crushing,  And  the  hungry  file  of  priests, 
Loosely  zoned  for  larger  feasts. 

vn 

"  Look !  **  The  whispered  awe  enhances  With 
a  thrill  their  merry  treat ;  As  one  readeth  grim 
romances,  In  a  sunny  window-seat  —  u  Look ! 
It  is  the  maid  selected  For  the  sacrifice  expected ; 
By  the  gods !  how  proud  and  brave  Steps  she 
to  her  watery  grave ! "  Strike  up  cymbals, 
gongs  and  tabours,  Clarions,  double  flutes  and 
drums ;  All  that  bellows  or  belabours  In  a  surg- 
ing discord  comes. 

vm 

Scarce  Duke  Iram  can  keep  under  His  wild 
steed's  disdain  and  wonder,  While  his  large  eyes 
ask  alway,  "  Dareth  man  attempt  to  neigh  ?  " 
He  hath  snuffed  the  great  Sahara  And  the  mute 
parade  of  stars,  Shall  he  brook  this  shrill  fanfara, 
Ramshorns,  pigskins,  screechy  jars  ?  What 
hath  he  to  do  with  rabble  ?  Froth  is  better  than 
their  babble ;  Let  him  toss  them  flakes  of  froth 
To  pronounce  his  scorn  and  wrath. 

IX 

With  his  nostrils  fierce  dilating,  With  his  crest 
a  curling  sea,  All  his  volumed  power  is  waiting 
For  the  will  to  set  it  free.  "  Peace,  my  friend ! " 
The  touch  he  knoweth  Calms  his  heart,  how- 
ever it  gloweth;  Horse  can  shame  a  man,  to 
quell  Passion,  where  he  loveth  well.  "Nay, 
endure  we/'  saith  the  rider,  "  Till  her  plighted 

35 


word  be  paid ;  Then,  though  Satan  stand  be- 
side her,  God  shall  help  me  swing  this  blade." 

X 

Lo,  upon  the  deep-piled  dais,  Wrought  in  hal- 
lowed looms  of  Sais,  O'er  the  impetuous  tor- 
rent's swoop  Stands  the  sacrificial  group !  Tali 
High-priest,  with  zealot  fires  Blazing  in  those 
eyeballs  old,  Swathes  him,  as  his  rank  requires, 
Head  to  foot  in  linen  fold.  Seven  attendants 
round  him  vying,  In  a  lighter  vesture  plying, 
Four  with  skirts,  and  other  three  Tunic'd  short 
from  waist  to  knee. 

XI 

Free  among  them  stands  the  maiden,  Clad  in 
white  for  her  long  rest;  Crowned  with  gold, 
and  jewel-laden,  With  a  lily  on  her  breast. 
Lily  is  the  mark  that  showeth  Where  that  pure 
and  sweet  heart  gloweth ;  There  must  come,  to 
shed  her  life,  Point  of  sacrificial  knife.  Here 
the  knife  is,  cold  and  gleaming,  Here  the  colder 
butcher  band.  Was  the  true  love  naught  but 
dreaming,  Feeble  heart  and  coward  hand  ? 

xn 

Strength  unto  the  weak  is  given  When  their 
earthly  bonds  are  riven ;  Ere  the  spirit  is  called 
away,  Heaven  begins  its  tranquil  sway.  Life 
hath  been  unstained,  and  therefore  Pleasant  to 
look  back  upon;  But  there  is  not  much  to 
care  for  When  the  light  of  love  is  gone,  Still, 
though  love  were  twice  as  fleeting,  Longeth  she 
for  one  last  greeting;  If  her  eyes  might  only 
dwell  Once  on  his,  to  say  farewell ! 


xm 

**  Glorious  Hapi ! "  spake  Piromis,  Lifting  high 
his  weapon'd  hand,  "  Earth  thy  footstool,  heaven 
thy  dome  is,  We  the  pebbles  on  thy  strand. 
Tnou  hast  leaped  the  cubits  twenty,  Dowering 
us  with  peace  and  plenty ;  Mutha  shows  thee 
her  retreat,  and  the  desert  licks  thy  feet.  We 
have  passed  through  our  purgation,  Once  again 
we  are  thy  kin;  God,  accept  our  expiation  — 
Maiden  pure  of  mortal  sin." 

XIV 

*  Ha ! "  the  king  cried,  smiling  blandly ;  "Ha! " 
the  trumpets  answered  grandly.  Proudly  priest 
whirled  knife  on  high,  While  the  maiden  bowed 
—  to  die.  Sudden,  through  the  ranks  beside 
her,  Scattering  men  like  sparks  of  flint,  Burst 
a  snow-white  horse  and  rider,  Rapid  as  the 
lightning's  glint.  One  blow  hurls  Arch-priest 
to  quiver  Headless  in  his  beloved  river ;  In  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye  All  the  rest  are  dead,  or  fly. 

XV 

Iram,  from  Pyropus  sweeping  As  a  mower 
swathes  the  rye,  Caught  his  love,  in  terror 
sleeping,  And  her  light  form  swings  on  high. 
"  Soul  of  Khons ! "  Sesostris  shouted,  Striding 
down  the  planks  blood-grouted  —  Into  his  beard 
fell  something  light,  And  he  spat,  and  swooned 
with  fright.  What  hath  made  this  great  king 
stagger,  Reel,  and  shriek  "  Unclean,  unclean ! " 
Thunderbolt,  or  flash  of  dagger?  Nay,  't  was 
but  a  garden  bean. 

37 


XVI 

Brave  Pyropus,  blood-bespattered,  snorts  at  men 
and  corpses  scattered,  Throws  his  noble  chest 
more  wide,  Leaps  into  the  leaping  tide.  Vainly 
hiss  a  thousand  arrows,  Launched  at  random 
through  the  foam;  Every  stroke  the  distance 
narrows  *Twixt  him  and  his  desert  home. 
Sorely  tried,  and  passion-shaken,  Long  amid 
her  foes  forsaken,  Now,  in  tumult  of  surprise, 
Lita  knows  not  where  she  lies 

xvn 

Till  a  bright  wave  breaks  upon  her,  And  her 
clear  perceptions  wake  —  All  his  valor,  prowess, 
honor,  Scorn  of  life  for  her  poor  sake.  Gently 
then  her  eyes  she  raises  (Eyes  whence  all  the 
pure  soul  gazes),  Softly  brings  her  lips  to  his  — 
Lips  wherein  the  whole  heart  is.  Let  the  furi- 
ous waters  welter,  Let  the  rough  winds  roar 
above;  Waves  are  warmth,  and  storms  are 
shelter,  In  the  upper  heaven  of  love. 

xvm 

Fierce  the  flood,  and  wild  the  danger,  Yet  the 
noble  desert  ranger  Flinches  not,  nor  flags,  be- 
fore He  hath  brought  them  safe  ashore.  Lives 
there  man  who  would  have  striven,  Reckless 
thus  of  storm  and  sword,  Leaped  into  the  gulf, 
and  given  Heart  and  soul  to  please  his  Lord? 
With  caresses  they  have  plied  him,  Hand  in 
hand  they  kneel  beside  him,  While  their  mutual 
vows  they  plight  To  the  God  of  Life  and 
Light. 

38 


Ha!  What  meaneth  yon  sword  -  flashing  ? 
Trump  and  shouts  from  bank  and  isle?  Lo, 
the  warrior-galleys  dashing  To  avenge  insulted 
Nile !  Haste !  The  brave  steed,  leaping  lightly 
'Neath  his  double  burden  sprightly,  Challenges, 
with  scornful  note,  Every  horse  in  Pharaoh's 
boat.  King  of  Egypt,  curb  thy  rages;  Lo, 
how  trouble  should  be  borne !  Memnon  soothes 
the  woe  of  ages  With  a  sweet  song  every  morn. 

4* 


f 


PAUSIAS  AND  GLYCERA  OR  THE 
FIRST  FLOWER-PAINTER. 


PAUSIAS  AND  GLYCERA  *  (A  Story  in 
Three  Scenes)  —  Scene  I.:  Outside  the  gate 
of  Sicyon;  morning  —  Glycera  weaving  gar- 
lands, Pausias  stands  admiring. 
Pausias. 

gods!  I  thought  my- 
self the  Prince  of  Art,  By 
Phoebus  and  the  Muses 
set  apart  To  kill  the  critic 
of  his  own  complaint, 
And  show  the  world  the 
proper  way  to  paint.  But 
lo,  a  young  maid  trips 
_  out  of  a  wood,  And  what 
lerstood  ?  I  rub  my  lids ;  I 
!  could  not  draw  a  line  If  ninety  Muses  came,  in- 
stead of  nine.  Thy  name,  fair  maiden,  is  a  debt 
to  me ;  Teach  him  to  speak,  whom  thou  hast 
taught  to  see.  Myself  already  some  repute  have 
won,  For  I  am  Pausias,  Brietes'  son ;  To  boast 
behoves  me  not,  nor  do  I  need,  But  often  wish 
my  friends  to  win  the  meed.  So  shall  '  they 
now ;  no  more  will  I  pursue  The  beaten  track, 
but  try  what  thou  hast  shown  — New  forms, 
new  curves,  new  harmonies  of  tone,  New 
dreams  of  heaven,  and  how  to  make  them 
true." 

Glycera. 

"  Fair  sir,  *t  is  only  what  1  plucked  this  morn, 
Kind  nature*s  gift  ere  you  and  I  were  born. 
*  Plin.,  Nat.  Hist.,  XXXV,  xi. 


Through  mossy  woods  and  watered  vales  I 
roam  While  day  is  young,  and  bring  my  treas- 
ure home ;  Each  lovely  bell  so  tenderly  I  bear, 
It  knoweth  not  my  fingers  from  the  air;  Lo, 
now,  they  scarce  acknowledge  their  surprise, 
And  how  the  dew-drops  sparkle  in  their  eyes ! " 
Pausias. 

"  Because  the  sun  shines  out  of  thine.  But 
hush  I  To  praise  a  face,  praiseworthy,  makes 
it  blush.  I  am  not  of  the  youths  who  find  de- 
light In  every  pretty  thing  that  meets  their  sight ; 
My  father  is  the  sage  of  Sicyon,  And  I  —  well, 
he  is  proud  of  such  a  son." 


"  And  proud  am  I  my  mother's  child  to  be,  And 
earn  for  her  the  life  she  gave  to  me.  Her  name 
is  Myrto  of  the  silver  hair,  Not  famed  for  wis- 
dom, but  loved  everywhere." 

Pausias. 

**  Then  whence  thine  art  ?  Hath  Phoebus  given 
thee  boon  Of  wreath  and  posy,  fillet  ana  fes- 
toon? Of  light  and  shade,  proportion,  depth, 
and  tone  —  Lo,  I  could  cast  my  palette  down, 
and  groan!" 
Glycera. 

"  No  art,  fair  sir,  hath  ever  crossed  my  thought ; 
The  lesson  I  delight  in  comes  untaught.  The 
flowers  around  me  take  their  own  sweet  way, 
They  tell  me  what  they  wish  —  and  I  obey. 
Unlike  poor  us,  they  feel  no  spleen  or  spite,  But 
earn  their  joy  by  ministering  delight.    So  loved 


and  cherished,  each  may  well  suppose  Itself  at 
home  again  just  where  it  grows.    No  dread 
have  they  of  what  the  fates  may  bring,  But 
trust  their  gods,  and  breathe  perpetual  Spring/* 
Pausias. 

"  Fair  child  of  Myrto,  simple-hearted  maid,  Thy 
innocence  doth  arrogance  upbraid.    Ye  gods,  I 
pray  you  make  a  flower  of  me,  That  I  may 
dwell  with  nature,  and  with  thee." 
Glycera. 

**.  I  see  the  brave  sun  leap  the  city  wall !  The 
gates  swing  wide;  I  hear  the  herald's  call. 
The  Archon  hath  proclaimed  the  market-day, 
And  mother  will  shed  tears  at  my  delay.  The 
priest  of  Zeus  hath  ordered  garlands  three; 
And  while  I  tarry,  who  will  wait  for  me  ?  " 
Pausias. 

44  No  picture  have  I  sold  for  many  a  moon,  But 
fortune  must  improve  her  habits  soon;  Then 
will  I  purchase  all  thy  stock-in-trade,  And  thou 
shalt  lead  me  to  thy  bower  of  green ;  There  will 
Ipaint  the  flowers,  and  thee,  their  Queen  — 
The  Queen  of  flowers,  that  nevermore  shall 
fade." 

Glycera* 

"I  know  a  wood-nymph,  who  her  dwelling 
hath  Among  the  leaves,  and  far  beyond  the 
path,  With  myrtle  and  with  jasmine  roofed 
across,  Enlaced  with  vine,  and  carpeted  with 
moss ;  Whose  only  threshold  is  a  plaited  brook, 
Whereby  the  primrose  at  herself  may  look; 

47 


While  birds  of  song  melodious  make  the  air  — 
But  oh !  I  must  not  take  a  stranger  there." 

Pausias. 

"  A  stranger !  Canst  thou  fancy  me  unkind  ? 
Good  art  is  surety  for  a  gentle  mind.  True 
painter  looks  from  airy  distance  down ;  No 
maid  can  fear  a  youth  who  loves  renown." 

Glycera. 

**  Thy  words  are  trim.    If  mother  deems  them 
true,  Thou  shalt  come  with  me.    But  till  then, 
adieu ! "  (Exit.) 
Pausias. 

**■  Oh  where  am  I  ?  The  mind  is  all  for  art  — 
But  one  warm  breath  transforms  it  into  heart." 

48 


PAUSIAS  AND  GLYCERA— Scene 
wood  near  Sicyon.  Pausias  with  his  apparatus. 
Glycera  carrying  flowers. 
Pausias.  

NFOUNDED  tangle 
Who  could  paint  all  this  ? 
A  bear  might  hug  him, 
or  a  serpent  hiss!  For 
love  of  nature  justly  am  I 
famed;  But  when  she 
goes  as  far  as  this,  she 
ought  to  be  ashamed/* 

 ,.  ,  Glycera. 

lay,  be  not  frightened  by  a  small  affray,  The 
love  of  beauty  cannot  prove  its  day.    But  lo, 
j  where  yonder  coney-tracks  begin,  My  nymph 
j  ordains  her  favourite  bower  within.    Yon  oak 
hath  reared  its  rugged  antlers  thus  Before  Deu- 
calion lived,  or  Daedalus.    Inside,  her  woodland 
Majesty  doth  keep  A  world  of  wonders  —  if 
one  dared  to  peep  —  Of  things  that  burrow, 
glide,  spin  webs,  or  creep;  Strange  creatures, 
which  before  they  live  must  die,  And  plants  that 
hunt  for  prey,  and  flowers  that  fly !  ** 
Pausias. 

"  My  love  of  nature  freezes  in  a  trice ;  I  loathe 
all  ear-wigs,  beetles,  and  wood-lice.  Outside 
her  bower  the  lady  must  remain,  If  she  doth 
wish  to  have  her  portrait  ta'en." 
Glycera. 

"  'T  is  not  the  lady  thou  must  paint  —  but  me." 


Pausias. 

"Aha!  that  will  I,  with  a  glow  of  glee;  But 
when  I  offered,  somebody  was  vexed,  And 
blushed,  and  frowned,  and  longed  to  say  *  what 
next  ?'" 

Glycera. 

"  A  painter's  tongue  hath  learnt  to  paint,  I  trow. 
But  oh!  that  order  —  I  remember  now  —  For 
twenty  chaplets,  from  the  priest  of  Zeus !  Ah, 
what  a  grand,  majestic  Hiereus !  So  pleased 
he  was,  and  praised  my  simple  skill,  And  thinks 
of  giving  a  larger  order  still." 
Pausias. 

"  The  priest  of  Dis !  a  scoundrel  with  three 
wives !    I  'II  pull  his  triple  beard,  if  he  arrives." 
Glycera. 

"  High  words  and  threats  profane  this  hallowed 
place,  Where  Time  rebukes  the  fuss  of  human 
race.  And,  gentle  sir,  what  harm  hath  he  done 
thee  ?  It  is  my  mother  whom  he  comes  to  see. 
Lo,  how  the  gods  our  puny  wrath  deride,  With 
peace  and  beauty  spread  on  every  side !  This 
earth  with  pleasure  of  the  Spring  complete,  Too 
bright  to  dwell  on,  were  it  not  so  sweet ;  No 
theft  of  man  its  affluence  impairs,  A  thousand 
flowers,  without  a  loss,  it  spares,  Not  one  of 
which  can  human  hand  portray,  Nor  brush  pur- 
sue their  interwoven  play,  No  palette  match 
their  brilliance,  although  Pandora  filled  her  box 
from  Iris*  bow." 


Pausias. 

"Her  want  of  faith  sweet  Glycera  will  rue, 
When  she  hath  seen  what  Pausias  can  do." 
Glycera. 

**  Forgive  me,  sir ;  in  truth,  it  was  no  taunt.  A 
great  man  can  do  anything  —  but  vaunt." 

Pausias. 

"  E'en  that  he  can  do,  if  he  sees  the  need.  But 
out  on  words,  when  time  hath  come  for  deed ! 
Arrange  thee,  fair  one,  with  thy  fairest  smile, 
As  if  the  world  belonged  to  thee  awhile ;  The 
sun  around  thee  waves  his  golden  plume,  And 
every  blossom  is  thy  beauty's  bloom." 
Glycera. 

"  Why  stand  we  here,  so  early  of  the  morn,  In 
love  with  things  that  treat  our  love  with  scorn 
—  Gray  crags,  where  time,  with  folded  pinion, 
broods,  Ana  ever  young  antiquity  of  woods ; 
The  brooks  that  babble,  and  the  flowers  that 
blush,  Ere  woman  is  a  reed,  or  man  a  rush  ? 
And  he  for  ever,  as  the  gods  ordain,  Would  fain 
revive  with  art  what  he  hath  slain;  Shall  na- 
ture fail  to  laugh,  who  sees  him  yearn  To  teach 
the  canvas  what  he  ne'er  can  learn?  " 
Pausias. 

"Sweet  Muse,  while  thus  through  heaven's 
too  distant  vault  Thy  great  mind  roves  —  how 
shall  we  earn  our  salt?  Though  art  is  not 
encouraged  as  of  old,  She  is  worth  a  score  of 
nature;  I  design  To  manufacture,  from  these 

53 


i 


flowers  of  thine,  A  silver  talent  *  —  or  perhaps 
of  gold!" 
Glycera. 

"Good  heavens!  how  precious  is  your  Wor- 
ship's time !  Some  minds  are  lowly,  others  too 
sublime.  Before  thee  all  my  simple  flowers  I 
spread;  Long  may  they  live,  when  Glycera  is 
dead!" 

Pausias. 

"  The  gods  forfend !  Fair  omen  from  fair  maid 
—  Bright  tongue,  recall  the  dark  thing  thou  hast 
said!" 

Glycera. 

**  Then  long  live  they,  with  Glycera  to  aid !  " 
Pausias. 

**  And  Pausias  crowned  by  Critics,  to  non-plus 
Euphranor,  Cydias,  and  Antidotus.  But  what 
are  they?  Below  my  feet  they  He;  Poor  sons 
of  pelf ;  the  son  of  Art  am  L  Now  rest  thee, 
maiden,  on  this  pillowy  bed,  With  fragrance 
canopied,  with  beauty  spread ;  Above  thee  hov- 
ers eglantine's  caress,  Around  thee  glows  en- 
tangled loveliness ;  Shy  primose  smiles,  thy 
gentle  smile  to  woo,  And  violets  take  thy 
glances  for  the  dew." 
Glycera. 

"  Then  will  they  pluck  themselves,  to  see  me 
laugh  ?  Good  flowers  bring  cash ;  but  who  will 
pay  for  chaff  ?    But  haply  thus  the  true  poet  in- 

*LucuIlus  is  said  to  have  given  two  talents  for  a 
mere  copy  of  this  picture. 

54 


tervenes,  To  make  us  wonder  what  on  earth  he 
means/* 

Pausias. 

"  A  poet !  We  do  things  in  a  loftier  way ;  A 
painter  is  a  poet  who  makes  it  pay.  A  poet, 
though  deep  and  mystic  as  the  Sphinx,  Will 
ne'er  earn  half  of  what  he  eats  and  drinks; 
He  dreams  of  gods,  but  of  himself  —  he  thinks." 

55 


AND  GLYCERA  —  Scene  IH 


PAUSIAS 

A  western  slope  near  Sicyon. 
easel  set;  Glycera  is  dressed 


Pausias  has  his 


in 


Pausias, 


iVEN 


white. 


times  the  moon 
hath  filled  her  silver  horn, 
And  twice  a  hundred  suns 
awoke  the  morn,  Since 
thou  and  I  —  for  half  the 
praise  is  thine  —  Began 
this  study  of  the  flowers 
divine." 
Glycera. 
y  have  the  months  gone 


las 


iow  swi 


by!" 


Pausias. 

"  Not  swift  alone,  but  passing  sweet  for  me." 
Glycera. 

"The  world,  that  was  so  large,  is  you  and 
L" 

**  And  shall  be  larger  still  when  it  is  — '  We/  " 

Glycera  (aside). 
"  Sweet  dual !   Alas,  too  sweet  to  ever  be ! " 

Pausias. 

44  A  tear,  bright  Glycera,  in  those  eyes  of  thine, 
Those  tender  eyes,  that  should  with  triumph 
shine,  When  I,  tne  owner  of  that  precious  heart, 
Am  shouting  16  Paean  of  high  art.  The  no- 
blest picture  underneath  the  sun  —  A  few  more 
strokes,  and  victory  is  won ! " 


Glycera. 

**  Nay,  heed  me  not.  True  pleasure  is  not  dry ; 
The  sunrise  of  the  heart  bedews  the  eye." 
Pausias. 

**  If  that  were  all  —  but  lately  there  hath  been  A 
listless  air  beneath  thy  lively  mien ;  Thyself  art 
all  fair  petal  and  sweet  perfume,  And  smiles  that 
light  the  damask  of  thy  bloom ;  Yet  some  pale 
distance  seems  to  chill  the  whole." 
Glycera. 

'*  Forgive  me,  love,  forgive  a  timorous  soul. 
Through  brightest  hours  untimely  vapours  rise 
—  But  while  I  prate,  the  lucky  moment  flies. 
The  work,  the  weather,  and  the  world  are 
fair ;  A  few  more  strokes,  and  fame  flies  every- 
where." 
Pausias. 

"Who  cares  for  fame,  except  with  love  to 
share?" 
Glycera. 

"  To  share !  Nay,  every  breath  of  it  is  mine 
Whene'er  it  breathes  on  thee,  for  I  am  thine. 
But  pardon  first  —  if  I  have  seemed  sometime 
Impatient,  glib,  too  pert  for  things  sublime.  Re- 
member that  I  meant  not  so  to  sink;  Forgive 
your  Glycera,  when  you  come  to  think." 
Pausias. 

44 1  '11  not  forgive  my  Glycera  —  until  She  hath 
discovered  how  to  do  some  ill.  Now  don  once 
more  this  coronet  of  bloom,  While  lilies  sweet 
thy  sweeter  breast  illume." 

58 


Glycera  (aside). 
"  Ah  me,  what  brightness  wasted  upon  gloom ! 
(Aloud.) 

Oh  fling  thy  sponge  across  this  wretched  face, 
A  patch  uncouth  amid  a  world  of  grace." 
Pausias. 

"  Sweet  love,  thy  beauty  far  outshineth  them ; 
The  tinsel  they  are,  thou  the  living  gem.  Great 
gift  of  gods!  Shall  flowers  of  earth  despise 
Those  flowers  of  heaven  —  thy  tresses  and 
thine  eyes?  Away  with  gloom!  let  no  ill- 
boding  make  My  heart  to  falter,  or  my  hand 
to  shake.  One  hour  is  all  I  crave.  If  that  be 
long,  Sweet  lips,  beguile  it  with  my  favourite 
song" 

Glycera. 

"  A  song  like  mine,  a  childish  lullaby,  Will  close 
—  when  needed  wide  awake  —  thine  eye.  But 
since  thou  so  demandest,  let  me  try.  In  the 
fresh  woods  have  I  been,  Sprinkled  with  the 
morning  dew ;  And  of  all  that  I  have  seen,  Lo, 
the  fairest  are  for  you!  Take  your  choice  of 
many  a  flower,  Lily,  rose  and  melilot,  Lilac, 
myrtle,  virgin's  bower,  Pansy,  and  forget- 
me-not;  Ladies-tresses,  and  harebell,  Jasmine, 
daphne,  violet,  Meadow-sweet,  and  pimpernel, 
Maidenhair,  and  mignonette.  What  is  gold, 
that  doth  allure  Foolish  hearts  from  field  and 
flower  ?  If  you  plant  them  in  it  pure,  Will  they 
keep  alive  an  hour  ?  What  is  fame,  compared 
with  these,  Fame  of  wisdom,  sword,  or  pen? 

59 


Who  would  quit  the  meadow  breeze,  For  the 
sultry  breath  of  men?  These  have  been  my 
childhood's  love,  These  my  maiden  visions 
were;  When  I  meet  their  gaze  above,  These 
will  tell  me  God  is  there." 
Pausias. 

**  'Tis  done.  No  more  the  palsied  doubt  mo- 
lests ;  The  crown  of  glory  on  my  labour  rests. 
Thy  clear  voice  hath  my  flagging  thoughts  sup- 
plied; My  model  thou,  my  teacher,  and  my 
bride!  Now  stand,  beloved  one,  where  the 
soft  glow  lies,  Yet  judge  not  rashly,  ere  the 
colour  dries.  Find  every  fault,  pick  every  flaw 
thou  canst ;  F 11  not  be  vexed ;  true  art  is  thus 
advanced.    So  meek  is  art,  that  (when  it  com- 


friends.  If  my  own  bride  condemns  my  efforts 
—  let  her,  A  poor  daub?  Well,  let  someone 
do  it  better." 

Glycera. 

44  My  love,  my  Lord,  my  Monarch  of  high  art, 
Forgive  a  tongue  held  fast  and  bound  by  heart. 
Not  Orpheus,  Linus,  or  great  Hermes  could 
Find  words  to  make  their  rapture  understood. 
No  Muse,  no  Phoebus,  hath  this  work  inspired, 
But  Jove  himself,  with  heaven's  own  splendour 
fired.  I  see  the  nursing  fingers  of  the  day,  And 
night  as  well,  upon  their  offspring  play  —  The 
silent  glide  of  moon  that  hushed  their  sleep,  (As 
mother  at  her  infant  steals  a  peep)  —  Anon,  with 
pearly  glances  half  withdrawn,  The  gentle  hesita- 


prehends)  It  loves  th« 


of  its  dearest 


60 


tion  of  the  dawn ;  I  see  the  sun  his  golden  tar- 
get raise,  And  drive  in  tremulous  ranks  the 
woodland  haze;  Awakened  by  whose  call  the 
flowers  arise,  With  tears  of  joy,  and  blushes  of 
surprise;  From  bulb  and  bush,  from  leaf  and 
blade,  spring  up  Bell,  disk,  or  star,  plume,  scep- 
tre, fan,  or  cup ;  A  thousand  forms,  a  thousand 
hues  of  bloom  Fill  earth  and  heaven  with 
beauty  and  perfume.  All  this,  by  thine  en- 
chantment, liveth  here;  Oh,  wondrous  power, 
that  chills  my  pride  with  fear ! " 
Pausias. 

"Thy  praise,  sweet  critic,  makes  thee  doubly 
dear ;  But  what  of  thy  fair  self  —  thy  form,  thy 
face,  The  flower  of  flowers,  the  gracefulness  of 
grace  ?  " 

Glycera. 

"  I  see  why  thou  hast  placed  me  among  these ; 
I  serve  a  purpose  —  't  is  to  scare  the  bees.  Sweet 
love  hath  right  to  place  me  anywhere ;  And  yet 
I  mourn  to  find  myself  so  fair." 
Pausias. 

"A  maid  lament  her  beauty!    Thou  hast 
shown,  A  thousand  times,  a  wit  beyond  mine 
own ;  Yet  is  it  kind  to  such  a  love  as  mine  To 
grudge  it  refuge  in  a  lovely  shrine  ?  " 
Glycera. 

"  No  shrine,  no  throne,  of  earth  or  heaven  above, 
Can  be  too  fair  a  dwelling-place  for  love.  But 
that  which  makes  me  grieve  myself  to  see,  Is 
memory  of  the  bitter  loss  to  thee ;  That  earthly 

61 


charms  —  as  men  such  things  esteem  —  Should 
tantalize  thee,  in  a  weeping  dream ! " 

Pausias. 

44  My  own,  my  only  love,  what  wouldst  thou 
say?  My  heart  hath  borne  a  heavy  bode  all 
day/' 

Glycera. 

"  I  durst  not  tell  thee  till  thy  work  was  done ; 
But  now  I  must,  before  the  setting  sun.  Last 
night,  when  life  was  lapsed  in  quietude,  Beside 
my  couch  a  stately  figure  stood  —  A  virgin 
form,  in  garb  of  chase  arrayed,  With  bow  and 
quiver,  baldric,  and  steel  blade;  Majestic  as  a 
palm  that  scorns  the  wind,  And  taller  than  the 
daughters  of  mankind*  *T  was  Artemis,  close- 
in  silver  sheen,  The  Goddess  of  the  woods, 
Maiden-queen.  Cold  terror  seized  me,  and 
mute  awe,  the  while  She  oped  her  proud  lips, 
with  an  icy  smile  — '  Whose  votary  art  thou  ? 
Shall  I  resign  To  wanton  Cypris  this  sworn 
nymph  of  mine  ?  Have  I  enfeoffed  thee  of  my 
holiest  glen,  To  have  thee  tainted  by  the  lips  of 
men  ?  Shall  urchin  Eros  laugh  at  my  decree  ? 
No  Hymen  torch,  no  loosened  zone  for  thee! 
To-morrow,  when  my  crescent  tops  yon  oak, 
Thou  shalt  return  unto  thy  proper  yoke/  She 
closed  her  lips,  and  like  the  barb  of  frost,  Her 
fingers  on  my  bounding  heart  outspread:  My 
breast  is  ice,  my  soul  is  of  the  dead ;  The  sod, 
the  cold  clay,  are  my  marriage-bed ;  Sweet  sun, 

sweet  flowers,  sweet  love,  for  ever  lost ! " 

62 


Pausias. 

"  I  '11  not  endure  it ;  it  shall  ne'er  be  true ;  If  that 
cold  tyrant  comes,  I  '11  run  her  through." 

Glycera. 

"What  canst  thou  do,  against  the  Goddess 
trine,  Selene,  Artemis,  and  Proserpine?  Oh 
love,  thou  hast  before  thee  life  and  fame,  And 
some  new  Glycera,  with  a  loftier  name.  So 
tender  is  my  heart  that  it  would  break  To  think 
that  thou  wert  suffering  for  my  sake.  Be  angry 
with  me ;  doubt  my  faith  —  or  try ;  And  count 
it  for  a  crime  of  mine  to  die ;  Or  tell  thyself  —  if 
still  a  pain  there  be,  That  wealth  and  grandeur 
were  not  meant  for  me.  Yet  think,  sometimes, 
when  thou  art  well  consoled,  That  no  one  loves 
thee  like  some  one  of  old." 
Pausias. 

"  My  life,  my  soul,  my  heart  of  hearts,  my  all, 
Together  let  us  cling,  till  death  befall." 
Glycera. 

"  The  sun  is  gone ;  the  crescent  waxeth  bright ; 
I  fly  to  darkness,  or  eternal  light.  Great  are 
the  gods,  but  greater  yet  is  love ;  Here  thou  art 
mine,  and  I  am  thine  above." 

Pausias. 

"Oh  fame  and  glory,  pomp,  and  power,  and 
state,  What  are  ye  when  the  heart  is  desolate  ? 
A  few  more  years  of  labour,  and  slow  breath  — 
Till  death  benign  have  overtaken  death." 

5  65 


KADISHA 


**  There  is  a  curious  legend  as  to  the  origin  of 
jealousy.  When  Adam  and  Eve  were  in  Para- 
dise, the  former  was  accustomed  to  retire  at  even- 
tide to  the  recesses  of  the  garden,  for  the  purpose 
of  prayer.  On  one  of  these  occasions  the  devil 
appeared  to  Eve,  and  informed  her  that  her  soli- 
tude was  to  be  accounted  for  by  the  attractions  of 
another  fair  one.  Eve  replied  that  it  could  not  be 
so,  as  she  was  the  only  woman  in  existence.  *  If 
I  show  you  another,  will  you  believe  me  ?  *  re- 
turned the  Evil  One,  and  produced  a  mirror,  in 
which  she  saw  her  own  reflection,  and  mistook  it 
for  her  rival."  ["Life  in  Abyssinia,"  by  Mr. 
Parkyns ;  Murray,  Albemarle  Street.]  The  Ka- 
disha,  flowing  to  the  south  of  Lebanon,  is  called 
"  the  holy  river,"  as  having  been  a  minor  stream 
of  Paradise. 


KADISHA  OR  THE  FIRST  JEALOUSY 
An  Eastern  Legend   Part  I 

~|RUE  love's  regale  is  in- 
complete Till  bitter  leaven 
makes  it  sweet;  Accept 
not  then  our  tale  amiss 
That  jealousy  was  part 
of  bliss,  But  rather  note 
a  mercy  here,  That  fact 
was  thus  outrun  by  fear ; 

   And  so,  before  the  harder 

bout,  When  sin  must  be  encountered,  too,  A 
woman's  heart  already  knew  The  way  to  con- 
quer doubt. 

When  sleep  was  in  the  summer  air,  And  stars 
looked  down  on  Paradise,  And  palms  and  ce- 
dars answered  fair  The  visionary  night-wind's 
sighs  And  murmuring  prayer;  When  every 
flower  was  in  its  hood,  (By  clasps  of  diamond 
dew  retained)  Or  sunk  to  elude  Phalana's  brood, 
Down  slumber's  breast  with  shadows  veined, 
In  solitude;  The  citron,  and  the  damask  rose, 
Pomegranate,  camphor,  argentine,  And  ivory- 
sceptred  aloe  Queen,  All  dreamy  in  repose ; 

n 

When  rivulets  were  loth  to  creep,  Except  unto 
the  pillow  moss,  And  distant  lake,  encurtained 
deep,  Was  but  a  silver  thread  across  The  eyes 
of  sleep;  When  nightingales,  in  the  sycamore, 
Sang  low  and  soft,  as  an  echo  dreaming,  And 


slept  the  moon  upon  heaven's  shore,  The  tidal 
shore  of  heaven,  beaming  With  lazuled  ore; 
When  new-born  earth  was  fain  to  lean  In  Sum- 
mer's arms,  recovering  The  unaccustomed  toil 
of  Spring,  Why  slept  not  Eve,  its  Queen  ? 

ffl 

Upon  a  smooth,  fern-mantled  stone  She  sat, 
and  watched  the  wicket-gate,  Not  timid  in  her 
woman's  throne,  Nor  lonely  in  her  sinless  state, 
Though  all  alone ;  For  having  spread  her  simple 
board  With  grapes  and  peaches,  milk  and  flow- 
ers, She  strewed  sweet  mastic  o'er  the  sward, 
And  waited,  through  the  darkening  hours,  Step 
of  her  lord.  Such  innocence  around  her  breathed, 
And  freshness  of  young  nature's  play,  The  sen- 
sitive plant  shrank  not  away,  And  cactus'  swords 
were  sheathed. 

IV 

The  vision  of  her  beauty  fell  Like  music  on  a 
moonlight  place,  Or  trembles  of  a  silver  bell,  Or 
memory  of  young  mother's  face  On  childhood's 
spell;  The  grace  that  wandered  free  of  laws, 
The  look  that  lit  the  heart's  confession,  Had 
never  dreamed  how  fair  it  was,  Nor  guessed 
that  purity's  expression  Is  beauty's  cause;  No 
more  that  unenquirmg  heart  Perused  the  sweet 
home  of  her  breast,  Than  turtle-doves  unline 
their  nest  To  scan  the  outer  part. 

V 

Although  in  all  that  garden  fair  Whate'er  de- 
light abode  or  grew,  Flowers,  and  trees,  and 

70 


balmy  air,  Fountains,  and  birds,  and  heaven 
blue  Beyond  compare ;  In  her  their  various 
charms  had  met,  And  grown  more  varied  by 
combining,  As  budded  plants  do  give  and  get, 
Each  inmate  doubling  while  consigning  His 
several  debt ;  And  yet  she  nursed  one  joy  above 
Her  thousand  charms,  nor  born  of  them,  But 
blooming  on  a  single  stem  —  Her  true  faith  in 
her  love. 

VI 

And  though,  before  she  heard  his  foot,  The 
moon  had  climbed  the  homestead  palm,  Flinging 
to  her  the  shadowed  fruit,  And  tree-frogs  ceased 
to  break  the  calm,  And  woods  were  mute; 
With  sudden  transport,  ever  new,  She  blushed, 
and  sprang  from  forth  the  bower,  Her  eyes  as 
bright  as  moon-lit  dew,  Her  bosom  glad  as 
snow-veiled  flower  When  sun  shines  through; 
He,  with  a  natural  dignity,  Untaught  self-con- 
sciousness by  harm,  Sustained  her  with  his 
manly  arm,  And  smiled  upon  her  glee. 

vn 

Next  day,  when  early  evening  shone  Along  the 
walks  of  Paradise,  Strewing  with  gold  the  hills, 
her  throne,  Embarrassing  the  winds  with  spice 
(Too  rich  a  loan) — Fair  E^e  was  in  her  bower 
of  ease,  A  cool  arcade  of  fruit  and  flowers, 
From  North  and  East  enclasped  by  trees,  But 
open  to  the  western  showers  And  southern 
breeze.  Here  followed  she  her  gardening  trade, 
Her  favourites'  simple  needs  attending,  And 

71 


singing  soft,  above  them  bending,  A  song  her- 
self had  made. 

vm 

In  evening's  calm,  she  walked  between  The 
tints  and  shades  of  rich  delight,  While  over- 
head came  arching  green  Many  a  shrub  and 
parasite,  To  crown  their  Queen.  There  laughed 
the  joy  of  the  rose,  among  Myrtle  and  Iris, 
*  heaven's  eve,  Magnole,  with  cups  of  moon- 
light hung,  And  Fuchsia's  sunny  chandelry 
And  coral  tongue;  And  where  the  shy  brook 
fluttered  through  Nepenthe  held  her  chalice  leaf 
(Undrained  as  yet  by  human  grief),  And  broad 
Nymphaea  grew. 

IX 

But  where  the  path  bent  towards  the  wood, 
Across  it  hung  a  sombre  screen,  The  deadly 
night-shade,  ieaden-hued ;  and  there,  behind  it, 
darkly  seen,  A  Being  stood ;  The  form,  if  any 
form  it  had,  Was  likest  to  a  nightly  vision  In 
mantle  of  amazement  clad ;  a  terror-sense,  with- 
out precision,  Of  something  bad.  A  tremble 
chilled  the  forest  shade,  A  roving  lion  turned 
and  fled,  The  birds  cowered  home  in  hush  of 
dread,  But  Eve  was  not  afraid. 

X 

She  stood  before  him,  sweetly  bold,  To  keep 

him  from  her  garden  shrine,  With  hair  that  fell, 

a  shower  of  gold,  Around  her  figure's  snowy 

line  And  rosy  mould ;  He  (with  a  re-awakened 

*  Plut.  OEgypt. 
72 


sense  Of  goodness,  long  for  ever  lost,  And  angel 
beauty's  pure  defence)  Shrank  back,  unable  to 
accost  Such  innocence;  But  envy  soon  scoffed 
down  his  shame,  And  with  a  smile,  designed 
for  fawning,  But  like  hell's  daybreak  sickly 
dawning,  His  crafty  accents  came. 

XI 

"  Sweet  ignorance,  't  is  sad  and  hard  To  break 
thy  pretty,  childish  spell,  And  my  soft  heart  hath 
such  regard  For  thine,  that  I  will  never  tell 
What  may  be  spared."  He  turned  aside,  o'er- 
whelmed  by  pain,  And  drew  a  sigh  of  deep 
compassion;  She  trembled,  flushed,  and  gazed 
again,  And  prayed  him  quick,  in  woman's  fash- 
ion, To  speak  it  plain ;  "  Then,  if  thou  must  be 
taught  to  grieve,  And  scorn  the  guile  thou  hast 
adored  —  The  man  who  calls  himself  thy  lord, 
Where  goes  he  every  eve  ?  " 

xn 

"  Nay,  then,"  she  cried,  "  if  that  be  all,  I  care 
not  what  thou  hast  to  say ;  The  guile  that  lurks 
therein  is  small;  My  husband  but  retires  to 
pray,  At  evening  call."  "To  pray!  oh  yes, 
and  on  his  knees  May-hap  to  find  a  lovely  be- 
ing; Devotions  so  devout  as  these  Are  best  at 
night,  with  no  one  seeing  Among  the  trees." 
She  blushed  as  deep  as  modesty;  Then  glancing 
back  as  bright  as  pride,  "  What  woman  can  he 
find,"  she  cried,  "  In  all  the  world,  but  me  ?  " 

xm 

He  laughed  with  a  superior  sneer,  Enough  to 

73 


shake  e'en  woman's  faith ;  "  Wilt  thou  believe 
me,  simple  dear.  If  I  am  able  now/'  he  saith, 
**  To  show  her  here  ?  "  She  cried  aloud  with 
lightsome  heart,  "  Be  that  the  test  whereon  to 
try  thee ;  Nature  and  heaven  shall  take  my  part ; 
Come,  show  this  rival ;  I  defy  thee  And  all  thy 
art/'  A  mirror,  held  in  readiness,  He  set  up- 
right before  her  feet  —  "Now  can  thy  simple 
charms  compete  With  beauty  such  as  this  ?  " 

XIV 

A  lovelier  sight  therein  she  saw  Than  ever  yet 
had  charmed  her  eyes,  A  fairer  picture,  void  of 
flaw,  Than  any,  even  Paradise  Itself,  could 
draw;  A  woman's  form  of  perfect  grace,  In 
shadowy  softness  delicate ;  Though  flushed  by 
sunset's  rich  embrace,  A  white  rose  could  not 
imitate  Her  innocent  face;  Then,  through  the 
deepening  glance  of  fear  The  shaft  of  doubt 
came  quivering,  The  sorrow-shaft  —  a  sigh  its 
wing,  And  for  its  barb  a  tear. 

XV 

44  Ah  me ! "  she  cried,  u  too  true  it  is ;  A  simple, 
homely  thing  like  Eve  Hath  not  a  chance  to 
rival  this,  But  must  resign  herself  to  grieve  O'er 
by-gone  bliss.  Till  now  it  was  enough  for  me 
To  keep  the  form  our  Father  made :  Oh,  Adam, 
I  was  proud  to  be  (As  I  have  felt,  and  thou  hast 
said)  A  part  of  thee.  No  marvel  that  my  lord 
can  spare  His  true  and  heaven-appointed  bride ; 
And  yet  affection  might  have  tried  To  fancy  me 
as  fair." 

74 


XVI 

The  Tempter,  glorying  in  his  wile,  Hath  ta'en 
his  mirror  and  withdrawn ;  Again  the  flowers 
look  up  and  smile,  And  brightens  off  from  air 
and  lawn  The  taint  of  guile.  But  smiles  come 
not  again  to  Eve,  Nor  brightens  off  her  dark 
reflection;  Her  garland-crown  she  hath  ceased 
to  weave,  And,  plucking,  maketh  no  selection, 
Only  to  grieve.  She  feels  a  dewy  radiance 
steep  The  languid  petals  of  her  eyes,  And  hath 
another  sad  surprise,  To  know  the  way  to 
weep. 

77 


m 


KADISHA   Part  II 

HE  tears  were  still  in  wo- 
man's eyes  When  morn 
awoke  on  Paradise ;  And 
still  her  sense  of  shame 
forbade  To  tell  her  griev- 
ance, or  upbraid,  Nor 
knew  she  which  was 
dearer  cost,  To  seek  him 

  or  to  shun  him  most. 

Then  Adam,  willing  to  believe  A  heart  by  cas 
ual  fancy  moved  Would  soon  come  back  at 
voice  she  loved,  Addressed  his  song  to  Eve. 
i  I 
"Come,  fairest,  while  the  morn  is  fair,  And 
dews  are  bright  as  yon  clear  eyes ;  Calm  down 
this  tide  of  troubled  hair,  Forget  with  me  all 
other  sighs  Than  summer  air.   Like  me,  the 
woodland  shadows  roam  At  light  (their  fairer 
comrade's)  side ;  And  peace  and  joy  salute  our 
home,  And  lo,  the  sun  in  all  his  pride  —  My 
sunshine,  come.   The  fawns  and  birds,  that 
know  our  call,  Are  waiting  for  our  presence  — 
see,  They  wait  my  presence,  love;  and  thee, 
The  most  desired  of  all. 

II 

I "The  trees,  which  thought  it  grievous  thing | 
I  To  weep  their  own  sweet  leaves  away,  Un- 
taught as  yet  how  soon  the  Spring  Upon  their  | 
'nestled  heads  should  lay  Her  callow  wing- 
The  trees,  whereat  we  smiled  again,  To  seel 


them,  in  their  growing  wonder,  Suppose  their 
buds  were  verdant  rain;  Until  the  gay  winds 
rustled  under  Their  feathered  train.  Lo,  now 
they  stand  in  braver  mien,  And,  claiming 
stronger  shadow-right,  Make  prisoner  of  the 
wayward  light,  And  strew  the  winds  with 
green. 

m 

"  Of  all  the  flowers  that  bow  the  head,  Or  gaze 
erect  on  sun  and  sky,  Not  one  there  is  declines 
to  shed,  Or  standeth  up  to  qualify  His  incense 
meed.  Of  all  that  blossom,  one  by  one,  Or  join 
their  lips  in  loving  cluster,  Not  one  hath  now 
resolved  alone?  Or  taken  counsel,  that  his  lustre 
Shall  be  unshown.  So  let  thy  soul  a  blossom 
be,  To  breathe  the  fragrance  of  its  praise,  And 
lift  itself  in  early  days,  JTo  Him  who  fosters  thee. 

IV 

"  Of  all  the  founts  bedropped  with  light,  Or  sil- 
ver tressed  with  shade  of  trees,  Not  one  there  is 
but  sprinkles  bright  Its  plume  of  freshness  on 
the  breeze,  And  jewel'd  flight.  Of  all  that  hush 
among  the  moss,  Or  prattling  shift  the  lily-vases, 
Not  one  there  is  but  purls  across  A  gush  of  the 
delight  that  causes  Its  limpid  gloss.  So  let  thy 
heart  a  fountain  be,  To  rise  in  sparkling  joy, 
and  fall  In  dimpled  melody  —  and  all  For  love 
of  home  and  me." 

V 

The  only  fount  her  heart  became  Rose  quick 

with  sighs,  and  fell  in  tears ;  While  pink  upon 

80 


her  white  cheek  came  (Like  apple-blossom 
among  pear's)  The  tinge  of  shame.  Her  hus- 
band, pierced  with  new  alarm,  Bent  nigh  to 
ask  of  her  distresses,  Enclasping  her  with  shel- 
tering arm,  Unwinding  by  discreet  caresses  The 
thread  of  harm.  Then  she,  with  sobs  of  slow 
relief  (For  silence  is  the  jail  of  care)  Confessed, 
for  him  to  heal  or  share,  The  first  of  human 


"I  cannot  look  on  thee,  and  think  That  thou 
hast  ceased  to  hold  me  dear ;  I  cannot  break  the 
loosened  link,  When  thou,  my  only  one,  art 
near,  How  can  I  shrink?  So  it  were  better, 
love  —  I  mean,  My  lord,  it  is  more  wise  and 
right  —  That  I,  as  one  whose  day  hath  been, 
Should  keep  my  pain  from  pleasure's  sight,  And 
live  unseen.  And  —  though  it  breaks  my  heart 
to  say  —  However  sad  my  loneliness,  I  fear  thou 
wouldst  rejoice  in  this,  To  have  me  far  away. 


**  I  know  not  how  it  is  with  man,  Perhaps  his 
nature  is  to  change,  On  finding  consort  fairer 
than  —  But,  oh,  I  cannot  so  arrange  My  nature's 
plan.  And,  haply,  thou  hast  never  thought  To 
vex,  or  make  me  feel  forsaken ;  But  since  to  thee 
the  thing  was  naught,  Supposed  'twould  be 
as  gaily  taken,  As  lightly  brought.   Yet,  is  it 


woe,  To  lose  thy  love  —  or  e'en  to  know  That 
half  of  it  is  mine  ? 


VTI 


abased  in  lonely 


6 


8l 


vin 

"For  whom  have  I  on  earth  but  thee,  What 
heart  to  love,  or  home  to  bless  ?  Although  it 
was  not  wise,  I  see,  To  think  that  some  one  felt 
no  less  Regard  for  me.  But  even  now,  if  thou 
wilt  stay,  Or  try,  at  least,  no  more  to  wander, 
And  let  me  love  thee  day  by  day,  Till  time  or 
habit  make  thee  fonder  (If  so  it  may)  —  Thou 
shalt  have  one  more  truly  bent,  In  homely  wise, 
on  serving  thee,  Than  any  stranger  e'er  can  be ; 
And  Eve  shall  seem  content." 

DC 

Not  loud  she  wept ;  but  Hope  could  hear  Brave 
Hope,  who  in  the  life-long  race  By  this  proviso 
vanquished  Fear,  That  each  alternate  step 
should  trace  A  smile  and  tear.  But  Adam,  lost 
in  wide  amaze,  Regarded  her  with  troubled 
glances,  Misdoubting,  'neath  her  steady  gaze, 
Himself  to  be  in  strange  romances,  And  dreamy 
haze.  "  Oh  monstrous  fraud  1  Oh  lies  im- 
mense 1 "  Yet  whither  had  his  wonder  flown, 
His  own  descendants  had  he  known  —  Those 
of  the  present  tense? 

X 

She  told  him  what  the  Tempter  said,  And  what 
her  frightened  self  had  seen  (That  form  in  love- 
liness arrayed,  With  modest  face  and  graceful 
mien),  And  how  displayed.  Then,  well  content 
to  show  his  bride  The  worldly  knowledge  he 
possessed  (That  world  whereof  was  none  be- 
side), He  laid  her  hand  upon  his  breast,  And 

82 


thus  replied :  "  Wife,  mirror'd  here  too  deep  to 
see,  A  little  way  down  yonder  path,  And  I  will 
show  thee  form  which  hath  Enchanted  thee 
and  me." 

XI 

Kadisha  is  a  streamlet  fair,  Which  hurries  down 
the  pebbled  way  As  one  who  hath  small  time  to 
spare,  So  far  to  go,  so  much  to  say  To  summer 
air.  Sometime  the  wavelets  wimple  in  Over- 
lapping tiers  of  crystal  shelves,  And  little  circles 
dimple  in,  As  if  the  waters  quaffed  themselves, 
The  while  they  spin.  Thence,  in  a  clear  pool, 
overbent  With  lotus-tree  and  tamarind  flower, 
Empearled,  and  lulled  in  golden  bower,  Kadisha 
sleeps  content. 

XII 

Their  steps  awoke  the  quiet  dell;  The  first  of 
men  was  smiling  gay;  Still  trembled  Eve  be- 
neath the  spell,  The  mystery  of  that  passion  sway 
She  could  not  quell.  As  they  approached  the 
silver  strand,  He  plucked  a  moss-rose  budding 
sweetly,  And  weaving  bright  her  tresses'  band, 
Therein  he  set  the  blossom  featly,  And  took  her 
hand.  He  led  her  past  the  maiden-hair,  Forget- 
me-not,  and  meadow-sweet,  Until  the  margin 
held  her  feet  Like  water-lilies  fair. 

xni 

*  Behold/'  he  cried,  "  on  yonder  wave  The  only 
one  with  whom  I  stray,  The  only  image  still  I 
have  Too  often,  even  while  I  pray  To  Him 
who  gave."    The  form  she  saw  was  long  un- 

83 


known,  Except  as  that  beheld  yestre'en,  Till 
viewing  not  that  form  alone  But  his,  with  hands 
enclasped  between,  She  guessed  her  own.  And, 
bending  o'er  in  sweet  surprise,  Perused,  with 
simple  child's  delight,  The  flowing  hair,  and 
forehead  white,  And  soft  inquiring  eyes. 

Then,  blushing  to  a  fairer  tint  Than  water 
might  pretend  to  catch,  "I  see,"  she  cried,  "  a 
lovely  print,  But  surely  I  can  never  match  This 
lily  glint !  So  pure,  so  innocent  and  bright,  So 
charming  free,  without  endeavour,  So  fancy- 
touched  with  pensive  light,  I  think  that  I  could 
gaze  for  ever  With  new  delight.  And  now,  that 
rosebud  in  my  hair  —  Perhaps  it  should  be 
placed  above  —  And  yet  I  will  not  change  it,  love, 
Since  thou  hast  set  it  there. 

XV 

"  Vain  Eve,  why  make  so  much  of  Eve?  What 
matter  for  thy  form  or  face?  Thy  beauty  is  if 
love  believe  Thee  worthy  of  that  treasured  place 
Thou  ne'er  shalt  leave.  Oh,  husband,  mine, 
and  mine  alone,  Take  back  my  faith  that  dared 
to  wander ;  Forgive  my  joy  to  have  thee  shown 
Not  fleeting  as  thine  image  yonder,  But  all  mine 
own.  And,  love,  if  this  be  vain  of  me,  This 
pleasure  and  the  pride  I  take,  'T  is  only  for  thy 
dearer  sake  To  be  so  fair  to  thee/' 

XVI 

No  more  she  said,  but  smiling  fell,  And  lost  her 
sorrow  on  his  breast ;  Her  love-bright  eyes  upon 

84 


him  dwell  Like  troubled  waters  laid  at  rest  In 
comfort's  well;  'Tis  nothing  more,  an  if  she 
weep,  Than  joy  she  cannot  else  reveal;  As 
onyx-gems  of  Pison  keep  A  tear-vein,  where  the 
sun  may  steal  Throughout  their  deep.  May 
every  Adam's  fairer  part  Thus,  only  thus,  a  rival 
find  —  The  image  of  herself,  enshrined  Within 
the  faithful  heart ! 

87 


MOUNT  ARAFA 


Mount  Arafa,  situated  about  a  mile  from  Mecca? 
is  held  in  great  veneration  by  the  Mussulmans  as 
a  place  very  proper  for  penitence.  Its  fitness  in 
this  respect  is  accounted  for  by  a  tradition  that 
Adam  and  Eve,  on  being  banished  out  of 
Paradise,  in  order  to  do  penance  for  their  trans- 
gression were  parted  from  each  other,  and  after  a 
separation  of  sixscore  years,  met  again  upon  this 
mountain*  (Ockley's  "  History  of  the  Saracens," 
p.  60.) 


[MOUNT  ARAFA 
[THE  PARTING 


(In  Two  Parts) 
I 


IVEN  away  from  Eden's 
gate  (With  blazing  fal- 
chions fenced  about)  Into 
a  desert  desolate,  A  miser- 
able pair  came  out  To 
meet  their  fate.  To  wan- 
der in  a  world  of  woe, 
To  ache  and  starve,  to 

___  burn  and  shiver,  With 

every  living  thing  their  foe  —  The  fire  of  God 
above,  the  river  Of  death  below.  Of  home,  of 
hope,  of  heaven  bereft ;  It  is  the  destiny  of  man 
To  cower  beneath  his  Maker's  ban,  And  hide 
from  his  own  theft. 

n 

The  father  of  a  world  unborn  —  Who  hath  be- 
gotten death,  ere  life  —  In  sullen  silence  plods 
forlorn ;  His  love  and  pride  in  his  fair  wife  Arc 
rage  and  scorn.  Instead  of  angel  ministers 
What  hath  he  now  but  fiends  devouring ;  Instead 
of  grapes  and  melons,  burs ;  In  lieu  of  manna, 
crab  and  souring?  By  whose  fault?  Hers 
Alack,  good  sire  of  feeble  knees,  New  penana 
waits  thee;  since  —  when  thus  Thou  shouldsi 
have  wept  for  all  of  us  —  Thou  mournest  thin< 
own  ease  f 

The  mother  of  all  loving:  wives  (Condemnec 


mm 

im 

Pfi 


mm 


mm 


unborn  to  many  a  tear)  Is  fain  to  take  his  hand, 
and  strives  In  sorrow  to  be  doubly  dear  —  But 
shame  deprives.  The  shame,  the  woe,  the  black 
surprise,  That  love's  first  dream  should  have 
such  ending  —  To  weep,  and  wipe  neglected 
eyes!  Oh  loss  of  true  love,  far  transcending 
Lost  Paradise  !  For  is  it  faith,  that  cannot  live 
One  gloomy  hour,  and  soar  above  The  clouds 
of  fate  ?    And  is  it  love  That  will  not  e'en  for- 


The  houseless  monarch  of  the  earth  Hath  quickly 
found  what  empire  means;  for  while  he  scoffs 
with  bitter  mirth,  And  curses,  after  Eden's 
scenes,  This  dreary  dearth,  A  snake,  that  twined 
in  playful  zeal  But  yester  morn  around  his 
ankle,  Now  driven  along  the  dust  to  steal,  Steals 
up,  and  leaves  its  venom'd  rankle  Deep  in  his 
heeL  He  groans  awhile*  He  seeks  anon  For 
comfort  to  this  first  of  pain,  Where  all  his  sons 
to-day  are  fain ;  He  seeks  —  but  Eve  is  gone ! 


MOUNT  ARAFA   Part  i  ADAM 

O'ER  hill  and  highland,  moor  and  plain, 
A  hundred  years,  he  seeks  in  vain;  O'er 
hill  and  plain,  a  hundred  years,  He  pours 
the  sorrow  no  one  hears ;  Yet  finds,  as 
reckless  mourners  find,.  Some  ease  of  heart 
in  toil  of  mind. 


I 

IE  mountains,  that  forbid  the 
day,  Ye  glens,  that  are  the 
steps  of  night,  How  long 
amidst  you  must  I  stray  — 
Deserted,  banished  from  God's 
sight,  And  cast  away?  Ye 
trees  and  flowers  the  Lord  hath 
made,  Ye  beasts  to  my  good  will  committed 
—  Although  your  trust  hath  been  betrayed  — 
Not  long  ago  ye  would  have  pitied  Your  old 
comrade.  Oh,  nature,  noblest  when  alone  ! 
Albeit  I  love  your  outward  part;  The  nature 
that  consoles  my  heart  Must  be  more  like  my 
own. 

n 

44  The  Maker  once  appointed  me  —  I  know  not 
and  I  care  not  why  —  The  Lord  of  everything  I 
see ;  Or  if  they  walk,  or  swim,  or  fly,  Whatever 
they  be.  And  all  the  earth  whereon  they  dwell, 
And  all  the  heavens  they  are  inhaling,  And 
powers,  whereof  I  cannot  tell — Dark  miscreants, 
supine  and  wailing,  Until  I  fell.  'T  was  good 
and  glorious  to  believe;  But  now  my  majesty 

95 


is  o'er,  And  I  would  give  it  all,  and  more,  For 
one  sweet  glimpse  of  Eve. 

HI 

"For  what  is  glory?  what  is  power?  And 
what  the  pride  of  standing  first  ?  A  twig  struck 
down  by  a  thunder-shower,  A  crown  of  thistle 
to  quench  the  thirst,  A  sun-scorched  flower. 
God  grant  the  men  who  spring  from  me,  As 
knowledge  waxeth  deep  and  splendid,  To  find 
a  loftier  pedigree  Than  any  by  the  Lord  in- 
tended—  Frog,  slug,  or  tree!  So  shall  they 
live,  without  trie  grief  Of  having  female  kind  to 
love,  Find  naught  below,  and  less  above,  And 
be  their  own  belief. 

IV 

44  So  weak  was  I,  so  poorly  taught  By  any  but 
my  Maker's  voice,  Too  happy  to  indulge  in 
thought,  Which  gives  me  little  to  rejoice,  And 
ends  in  naught.  But  now  and  then  my  path 
grows  clear ;  My  mind  casts  off  its  grim  confu- 
sion When  I  have  chanced  on  goodly  cheer ; 
Then  happiness  seems  no  delusion,  Even  down 
here,  With  love  and  faith  to  bless  the  curse, 
To  heal  the  mind  by  touch  of  heart,  To  make 
me  feel  my  better  part,  And  fight  against  the 
worse. 

V 

"  It  may  be  that  I  did  o'erprize,  Above  the  Giver, 
that  rare  gift;  Ungird  my  will  for  softer  ties, 
And  hold  my  manhood  little  thrift  To  woman's 
eyes.    So  fair  she  was,  so  full  of  grace,  So  in- 


nocent  with  coy  caresses,  So  proud  to  step  at  my 
own  pace,  So  rosy  through  her  golden  tresses, 
And  such  a  face!  Suffice  my  sins;  I'll  ne'er 
approve  A  thought  against  my  faithful  Eve; 
Suffice  my  sins ;  I  '11  ne'er  believe  That  it  was 
one  to  love. 

VI 

"  Oh  love,  if  e'er  this  desert  plain,  Where  I  must 
sweat  with  axe  and  spade,  Shall  hold  a  people 
sprung  from  twain,  Or  better  made  by  Him, 
who  made  That  pair  in  vain,  Shall  any  know, 
as  we  have  known,  Thy  rapture,  terror,  vaunt- 
ing, fretting,  Profound  despair,  ecstatic  tone, 
Crowning  of  reason,  and  upsetting  Of  reason's 
throne?  Bright  honey  quaff'd  from  cells  of 
gall,  Or  crimson  sting  from  creamy  rose  —  Thy 
heavenly  half  from  Eden  flows,  Thy  venom 
from  our  fall." 

Awhile  he  ceased;  for  scorching'  woe  Had 
made  a  drought  of  vocal  flow;  When  hun- 
gry, weary,  desolate,  A  fox  crept  home  to 
his  den's  gate.  The  sight  brought  Adam's 
memory  back,  And  touched  him  with  a 
keener  lack. 

vn 

"  Home !  Where  is  home  ?  Of  old  I  thought 
(Or  felt  in  mystery  of  bliss)  That  so  divinely 
was  I  wrought  As  not  to  care  for  that  or  this, 
And  value  naught ;  But  sit  or  saunter,  rest  or 
roam,  Regarding  all  things  most  sublimely,  As 

7  ~  97 


if  enthroned  on  heaven's  dome;  Away  with 
paltry  and  untimely  Hankerings  for  home !  But 
now  the  weary  heart  is  fain  For  shelter  in  some 
lowly  nest -—To  sink  upon  a  softer  breast  And 
smile  away  its  pain. 

vm 

44  For  me  what  home,  what  hope  is  left  ?  What 
guiding  line  of  good  or  ill  ?  Of  all  I  ever  loved 
bereft,  Disgraced,  discarded,  outlawed  still  For 
one  small  theft !  I  sicken  of  my  skill  and  pride ; 
I  work,  without  a  bit  of  caring.  The  world  is 
waste,  the  world  is  wide;  Why  make  good 
things,  with  no  one  sharing  Them  at  my  side  ? 
What  matter  how  I  dwell  or  die  ?  Away  with 
such  a  niggard  life !  The  Lord  hath  robbed  me 
of  my  wife,  And  life  is  only  L 

IX 

"  God,  who  hast  said  it  is  not  good  For  man, 
Thy  son,  to  live  alone ;  Is  everlasting  solitude, 
When  once  united  bliss  was  known,  A  livelier 
food  ?  Canst  Thou  suppose  it  right  or  just, 
When  Thine  own  creature  so  misled  us,  In  vir- 
tue of  our  simple  trust,  To  torture  us  like  this, 
and  tread  us  Back  into  dust  ?  Oh,  fool  I  am ! 
Oh,  rebel  worm!  If,  when  immortal  I  was 
slain  For  daring  to  impugn  His  reign,  How 
shall  I,  thus  infirm  ? 

X 

44  Woe  me,  poor  me !    No  humbler  yet,  For  all 

the  penance  on  me  laid ;  Forgive  me,  Lord,  if  I 

forget  That  I  am  but  what  Thou  hast  made., 

98 


My  soul  Thy  debt  I  Inspire  me  to  survey  the 
skies,  And  tremble  at  their  golden  wonder,  To 
learn  the  space  that  I  comprise;  At  once  to 
marvel,  and  to  ponder,  And  drop  mine  eyes. 
And  grant  me  —  for  I  do  but  find,  In  seeking 
more  than  God  hath  shown,  I  lose  His  power 
and  waste  my  own  —  Grant  me  a  lowly 
mind. 

XI 

**  A  lowly  mind !  Thou  wondrous  sprite, 
Whose  frolics  make  their  master  weep ;  Anon 
endowed  with  eagle's  flight,  Anon  too  impotent 
to  creep,  Or  blink  aright;  Howe'er thy  trum- 
pery flashes  play  Among  the  miracles  above  thee, 
Be  taught  to  feel  thy  Maker's  sway ;  To  la- 
bour, so  that  He  shall  love  thee  And  guide  thy 
way ;  Be  led,  from  out  the  cloudy  dreams  Of 
thy  too  visionary  part,  To  listen  to  the  whisper- 
ing heart,  And  curb  thine  own  extremes. 

XH 

"  Then  hope  shall  shine  from  heaven,  and  give 
To  fruit  of  hard  work  sunny  cheek,  And  flow- 
ers of  grace  and  love  revive,  And  shrivelled 
pasturage  grow  sleek,  And  corn  shall  thrive. 
Beholding  gladness,  Eve  and  I,  Enfolding  it  also 
in  each  other,  May  talk  of  heaven  without  a 
sigh ;  Because  our  heaven  in  one  another  Love 
shall  supply;  For  courage,  faith  and  bended 
knees,  By  stress  of  patience,  cure  distress,  And 
turn  wild  Love-in-idleness  Into  the  true  Hearts- 
ease/7 

99 


The  Lord  breathed  on  the  first  of  men,  And 
strung  his  limbs  to  strength  again;  He 
scorned  a  century  of  ill,  And  girt  his  loins 
to  climb  the  parting  hill. 


MOUNT  ARAFA    Part  H  EVE 

MEANWHILE,  through  lowland,  holt,  and 
glade,  Sad  Eve  her  lonely  travel  made ;  Not 
fierce,  or  proud,  but  well  content  To  own 
the  righteous  punishment;  Yet  found,  as 
gentle  mourners  find,  The  heart's  confession 
soothe  the  mind. 

I 

"~ jE  valleys,  and  ye  waters  vast, 
Who  answer  all  that  look  on 
you  With  shadows  of  them- 
selves, that  last  As  long  as 
they,  and  are  as  true  —  where 
hath  he  passed  ?  Oh  woods, 
and  heights  of  rugged  stone, 
Oh  weariness  of  sky  above  me !  For  ever  must 
I  pine  and  moan,  With  none  to  comfort,  none  to 
love  me,  Alone,  alone  ?  Thou  bird,  that  hover- 
est  at  heaven's  gate,  Or  cleavest  limpid  lines  of 
air,  Return  —  for  thou  hast  one  to  care  —  Re- 
turn to  thy  dear  mate. 

n 

**  For  me,  no  joy  of  earth  or  sky,  No  commune 
with  the  things  I  see,  But  dreary  converse  of  the 
eye  With  worlds  too  grand  to  look  at  me  —  No 
smile,  no  sigh !  In  vain  I  fall  upon  my  knees, 
In  vain  I  weep  and  sob  for  ever ;  All  other  mis- 
eries have  ease,  All  other  prayers  have  ruth  — 
but  never  Any  for  these.  Are  we  endowed 
with  heavenly  breath,  And  God's  own  form, 
that  we  should  win  A  proud  priority  of  sin, 
And  teach  creation  death? 


f  m 

"  Nay,  that  is  too  profound  for  me,  Too  lofty 
for  a  fallen  thing ;  More  keenly  do  I  feel  than 
see,  Far  liefer  would  I,  than  take  wing,  Beneath 
it  be.  The  night— the  dark  —  will  soon  be 
here,  The  gloom  that  doth  my  heart  appall  so ; 
How  can  I  tell  what  may  be  near  ?  My  faith 
is  in  the  Lord  —  but  also  He  hath  made  fear. 
I  quail,  I  cower,  I  strive  to  flee ;  Though  oft  I 
watched,  without  affright,  The  stern  magnifi- 
cence of  night,  When  Adam  was  with  me. 

**  My  husband !  Ah,  I  thought  sometime  That 
I  could  do  without  him  well,  Communing  with 
the  heaven  at  prime,  And  in  my  womanhood 
could  dwell  Calm  and  sublime.  Declining,  with 
a  playful  strife,  All  thoughts  below  my  own  tran- 
scendence, All  common-sense  of  earth  and  life, 
And  counting  it  a  poor  dependence  To  be  his 
wife.  But  now  I  know,  by  trouble's  test,  How 
little  my  poor  strength  can  bear.  What  folly 
wisdom  is,  whene'er  The  grief  is  in  the  breast ! 

V 

u  The  grief  is  in  my  breast,  because  I  have  not 
always  been  as  kind  As  woman  should,  by  na- 
ture's laws;  But  showed  sometimes  a  wilful 
mind,  Carping  at  straws.  While  he,  perhaps, 
with  larger  eyne,  Was  pleased,  instead  of  vexed, 
at  seeing  Some  little  petulance  in  mine,  And 
loved  me  all  the  more,  for  being  Not  too  divine ; 
Until  the  pride  became  a  snare ;  The  reason  a 


deceit,  wherein  I  dallied  face  to  face  with  sin, 
And  made  a  mortal  pair. 

VI 

"  Dark  sin,  the  deadly  foe  of  love,  All  bowers  of 
bliss  thou  shalt  infest,  Implanting  thorns  the 
flowers  above,  And  one  black  feather  in  the 
breast  Of  purest  dove.  Almighty  Father,  once 
our  Friend,  And  ready  even  now  to  love  us, 
Thy  pitying  gaze  upon  us  bend,  And  through 
the  tempest-clouds  above  us  Thine  arm  extend ; 
That  so  Thy  children  may  begin,  In  lieu  of  bliss, 
to  earn  content,  And  find  that  sinful  Eve  was 
meant  Not  only  for  a  sin." 

Awhile  she  ceased ;  for  memory's  flow  Had 
drowned  the  utterance  of  woe ;  Until  a 
young  hind  crossed  the  lawn,  And  fondly 
trotted  forth  her  fawn,  Whose  frolics  of 
delight  made  Eve,  As  in  a  weeping  vision, 
grieve. 

vn 

"For  me,  poor  me,  no  hope  to  learn  That 
sweeter  bliss  than  Paradise,  The  joy  that  makes 
a  mother  yearn  O'er  that  bright  message  from 
the  skies,  Her  pains  do  earn.  She  stoops  en- 
tranced ;  she  fears  to  stir,  Or  think ;  lest  e'en  a 
thought  endanger  (While  two  enraptured  hearts 
confer)  That  wonderful  and  wondering  stranger, 
Come  home  to  her.  He  watches  her,  in  sol- 
emn style ;  A  world  of  love  flows  to  and  fro ; 
He  smiles,  that  he  may  learn  to  know  His 
mother,  by  her  smile. 

103 


vm 

"  Oh  bliss,  that  to  all  other  bliss  Shall  be  as 
sunrise  unto  night,  Or  heaven  to  such  a  place 
as  this,  Or  God's  own  voice,  with  angels  bright, 
To  serpent's  hiss!  Have  I  betrayed  thee,  or 
cast  by  The  pledge  in  which  my  soul  delighted, 
That  all  this  wrong  and  misery  Should  be 
avenged  at  last,  and  righted,  And  so  should  I  ? 
Belike,  they  look  on  me  as  dead,  Those  fiends 
that  found  me  soft  and  sweet;  But  God  hath 
promised  me  one  treat  —  To  crush  that  serpent's 
head ! 

IX 

44  Revenge !  Oh,  heaven,  let  some  one  rise  — 
Some  woman,  since  revenge  is  small- — Who 
shall  not  care  about  its  size,  If  only  she  can  get 
it  all,  For  those  black  lies !  Poor  Adam  is  too 
good  and  great  —  I  felt  it,  though  he  said  so 
little  —  To  hate  his  foes  as  I  can  hate,  And  pay 
them  every  jot  and  tittle  At  their  own  rate ;  For 
was  there  none  but  I  to  blame  ?  God  knows 
that  if,  instead  of  me,  There  had  been  any  other 
she,  She  would  have  done  the  same. 

X 

44  Poor  me !  Of  course,  the  whole  disgrace,  In 
spite  of  reason,  falls  on  me ;  And  so  all  women 
of  my  race,  In  pure  right,  shall  be  reason-free  In 
every  case.  It  shall  not  be  in  power  of  man 
To  bind  them  to  their  own  contentions ;  But 
each  shall  speak,  as  speak  she  can,  And  start 
anew,  with  fresh  inventions,  Where  she  began. 

104 


And  so  shall  they  be  dearer  still ;  For  man  shall 
ne'er  suspect  in  them  The  plucking  of  the  fatal 
stem,  That  brought  him  all  his  ill. 

XI 

"And  when  hereafter  —  as  there  must,  Since 
He,  that  made  us,  so  hath  sworn,  From  that 
whereof  we  are,  the  dust,  And  whereunto  we 
shall  return  In  higher  trust  —  There  spring  a 
grand  and  countless  race,  Replenishing  this  vast 
possession,  Till  life  hath  won  a  larger  space 
Than  death,  by  quick  and  fair  succession  Of 
health  and  grace;  They  too  shall  find,  as  I 
have  found,  The  grief,  that  lifts  its  head  on 
high  A  dewy  bud  the  sun  shall  dry  —  But  not 
while  on  the  ground. 

xn 

"  Then  men  shall  love  their  wives  again,  Allow- 
ing for  the  frailer  kind;  Content  to  keep  the 
heart's  Amen,  Content  to  own  the  turns  of 
mind  Beyond  their  ken.  And  wives  shall  in 
their  lords  be  blest,  Their  higher  sense  of  right 
perceiving  (When  possible)  with  love  their  test ; 
Exalting,  solacing,  believing  All  for  the  best. 
And  for  the  best  shall  all  things  be  If  God  once 
more  will  shine  around,  And  lift  my  husband 
from  the  ground,  And  teach  him  to  lift  me." 

New  faith  inspired  the  first  of  wives,  She 
smiles,  and  drooping'  hope  revives;  She 
scorns  a  hundred  years  of  woe,  And  binds 
her  hair,  because  the  breezes  blow. 

105 


MEETING 

wind  is  hushed,  the 
moon  is  bright,  More 
stars  on  heaven  than  may 
be  told;  Young  flowers 
are  coying  with  the  light 
That  softly  tempts  them  ^ 
to  unfold  And  trust  the  ^ 
night.  What  form  comes 

 bounding    from  above 

Down  Arafa,  the  mountain  lonely,  Afraid  to 
scare  its  long-lost  dove,  Yet  swift  as  joy  —  "  It 
can  be  only,  Only  my  love !  **  What  shape  is 
that  —  too  fair  to  leave  On  Arafa,  the  mountain 
lone  ?  So  trembling,  and  so  faint  —  "  My  own,| 
It  must  be  my  own  Eve  1  ** 

n 

As  when  the  mantled  heavens  display  The 
glory  of  the  morning  glow,  And  spread  the 
mountain  heights  with  day,  And  bid  the  clouds 
and  shadows  go  Trooping  away  —  The  spirit 
of  the  Lord  arose,  And  made  the  earth  and 
heavens  to  quiver,  And  scattered  all  His  hellish 
foes,  And  deigned  His  good  stock  to  deliver 
From  all  their  woes.  So  long  the  twain  had 
strayed  apart  That  each,  as  at  a  marvel,  gazed 
With  eyes  abashed,  and  brain  amazed,  While 
heart  inquired  of  heart. 

m 

Our  God  hath  made  a  fairer  thing  Than  fairest 


is 


dawn  of  summer  day  —  A  gentle,  timid,  flutter- 
ing, Confessing  glance,  that  seeks  alway  Rest 
for  its  wing  —  A  sweeter  sight  than  azure  skies, 
Or  golden  star  thereon  that  glideth ;  And  blest 
are  they  who  see  it  rise,  For  if  it  cometh,  it 
abideth,  In  woman's  eyes.  The  first  of  men 
such  blessing  sued ;  The  first  of  women  smiled 
consent ;  For  husband,  wife,  and  home  it  meant, 
And  no  more  solitude ! 

IV 

We  trample  now  the  faith  of  old,  We  make  our 
Gods  of  dream  and  doubt ;  Yet  life  is  but  a  tale 
untold,  Without  one  heart  to  love,  without  One 
hand  to  hold.  The  fairer  half  of  humankind  — 
More  gentle,  playful,  and  confiding ;  Whose  soul 
is  not  the  slave  of  mind?  Whose  spirit  hath  a 
nobler  guiding  Than  we  can  find ;  So  Eve  re- 
stores the  sweeter  part  Of  what  herself  unwitting 
stole,  And  makes  the  wounded  Adam  whole; 
For  half  the  mind  is  heart. 

108 


THE  WELL  OF  SAINT  JOHN 


The  old  well  of  Saint  John,  in  the  parish  of 
Newton-Nottage,  Glamorganshire,  has  a  tide  of 
its  own,  which  appears  to  run  exactly  counter  to 
that  of  the  sea,  some  half-mile  away.  The  water 
is  beautifully  bright  and  fresh;  and  the  quaint 
dome  among  the  lonely  sands  is  regarded  with 
some  awe  and  reverence. 


i 


I 


THE  WELL  OF  SAINT  JOHN 

He.  

iiERE  is  plenty  of  room] 
for  two  in  here,  Within 
the  steep  tunnel  of  old 
gray  stone ;  And  the  well 
is  so  deep,  and  the  spring 
so  clear,  It  is  quite  unsafe  | 
to  go  down  alone." 
She. 

"It  is  perfectly  safe,  de- 
upon  it,  For  a  girl  who  can  count  thel 
steps,  like  me ;  And  if  ever  I  saw  dear  Mother's  | 
bonnet,  It  is  there  on  the  hill  by  the  old  ash- 
tree/' 
He. 

"There  is  nobody  but  Rees  Hopkin's  cow| 
Watching  the  dusk  on  the  milk-white  sea: 
'T  is  the  time  and  the  place  for  a  life-long  vow,  | 
Such  as  I  owe  you,  and  you  owe  me." 
She. 

"  Oh,  Willie,  how  can  I,  in  this  dark  well  ?   1 1 
shall  drop  the  brown  pitcher,  if  you  let  go ;  The 
long  roof  is  murmuring  like  a  sea-shell,  And  the  | 
shadows  are  shuddering  to  and  fro ! " 
He. 

"'Tis  the  sound  of  the  ebb  in  Newton  Bayj 
Quickens  the  spring  as  the  tide  grows  less; 
Even  as  true  love  flows  alway  Counter  thel 
flood  of  the  world's  success." 


She. 

44  There  is  no  other  way  for  love  to  flow,  When- 
ever it  springs  in  a  woman's  breast ;  With  the 
tide  of  its  own  heart  it  must  go,  And  run  con- 
trary to  all  the  rest." 
He. 

"  Then  fill  the  sweet  cup  of  your  hand,  my  love, 
And  pledge  me  your  maiden  faith  thereon,  By 
the  touch  of  the  lettered  stone  above  And  the 
holy  water  of  Saint  John/' 
She. 

44  Oh,  what  shall  I  say  ?  My  heart  sinks  low ; 
My  fingers  are  cold,  and  my  hand  too  flat ;  Is 
love  to  be  measured  by  handfuls  so  ?  And  you 
know  that  I  love  you  —  without  that/' 

They  stooped,  in  the  gleam  of  the  faint  light, 
over  The  print  of  themselves  in  the  limpid 
gloom;  And  she  lifted  her  full  palm  towards 
her  lover,  With  her  lips  preparing  the  words  of 
doom.  But  the  warm  heart  rose,  and  the  cold 
hand  fell,  And  the  pledge  of  her  faith  sprang 
sweet  and  clear,  From  a  holier  source  than  the 
old  Saint's  well,  From  the  depth  of  a  woman's 
love  —  a  tear. 

ii4 


BUSCOMBE 


BUSCOMBE;  OR,  A  MICHAELMAS 
GOOSE 

1  was  Head  of  Blun- 
ders school.  Before  the 
age  of  stokers,  Compelled 
by  rank  to  look  a  fool 
Betwixt  a  pair  of  "  chok- 
ers/' Tom  Tanner's  fa- 
ther wrote,  to  say  That 
we  should  both  of  us  come 
To  spend  Saint  Michael's 
ge  of  Buscombe.  One  tri- 
fle marred  this  merry  plan  —  I  had  contrived, 
though  bar'd  up,  To  typify  the  future  man  By 
getting  very  hard  up.  O  Bi-metallic  Champion ! 
some  New  Ratio  doth  seem  proper,  When  the 
circulating  medium  Is  reduced  to  half  a  copper. 
Vile  Mammon  hence !  Thy  low  amount  Too 
Daltry  is  to  mope  for;  The  more  we  have  in 
land  to  count,  The  less  in  heart  to  hope  for. 
Bright  youth  itself  is  golden  ore,  And  health  the 
Dest  gold-beater;  Without  a  sigh  for  twopence 
more,  We  passed  the  gates  of  Peter.  A  nod 
suffices  surly  Cop,  Who  grins  his  bona  fides, 
As  Cerberus  preferred  his  sop  To  Orpheus  and 
Alcides.  But  Mother  Cop !  her  cooking  knack 
Would  conquer  fifty  Catos  —  The  Queen  of 
tarts,  and  tuck,  and  tack,  And  cream,  and  fried 
potatoes.  And  rashers!  Sweet  Ulysses,  say 
Old  Homer  was  mistaken ;  The  goddess  must 
have  had  her  way,  And  turned  thee  into  bacon. 


Il 


That  Circe  came,  and  wished  us  joy,  And  said, 
"  Good-bye,  my  dearie  I "  Because  I  was  an 
honest  boy,  And  pauper  meo  aere.  So  Tom 
and  I,  like  men  on  strike,  Shook  hands  with  all 
our  cronies,  Walked  fifty  yards,  to  save  the  pike, 
And  jumped  upon  our  ponies.  Of  apples,  nuts, 
and  goose  galore  I  chattered  like  a  stupid,  And 
thought  of  shooting  conies,  more  Than  being 
shot  by  Cupid. 

At  racing  pace  the  turnpike  road  (Great  West- 
ern, in  this  quicker  age)  Was  swallowed  up  with 
whip  and  goad,  And  soon  we  saw  the  Vicarage. 
A  sweet  seclusion,  to  forget  The  world  and  its 
disasters,  And  fill  the  mind  with  mignonette, 
Clove-pinks,  and  German  asters ;  In  pensive  or 
in  playful  mood  To  saunter  here,  and  dally  With 
leafy  calm  of  solitude,  Or  sunshine  of  the  valley. 
The  Vicar  loved  his  parish  well,  And  well  was 
he  loved  by  it ;  Religion  did  not  him  compel  To 
harass  and  defy  it.  No  price  he  charged  for 
heavenly  love,  No  discount  on  Resurgo ;  His 
conscience  told  him  one  side-shove  Is  worth  ten 
kicks  a  tergo.  But  while  the  way  of  peace  he 
showed  Unto  the  Christian  guerdon,  No  post 
was  he,  to  point  the  road,  But  a  man  to  share 
the  burden.  The  lapse  of  years  made  manifest 
The  sanctuary  of  holy  age,  As  clearer  grows 
the  ring-dove's  nest,  When  time  hath  stripped 
the  foliage.  The  Vicar's  wife  was  much  the 
same,  In  fairer  form  presented  —  A  lively,  yet  a 

118 


quiet  dame,  With  home,  sweet  home,  contented ; 
In  parish  wants,  and  household  arts,  A  lesson  to 
this  glib  age ;  Well  versed  in  pickles,  jams  and 
tarts,  Piano,  chess,  and  cribbage.  And  well  she 
loved  the  flowers,  that  speak  A  language  unde- 
filed  —  The  flowers,  that  lift  the  dimpled  cheek, 
Or  droop  the  dewy  eyelid. 


Now,  if  she  lingers  after  us,  What  ground 
have  we  for  snarling?  What  Act  prohibits  pri- 
vate buss,  Reserved  for  "  Tommy  darling  "  ? 


But  who  are  these,  so  fresh  and  sweet  In 
lovely  hats  and  dresses,  Who  half  advance,  and 
half  retreat,  And  peep  through  clouds  of  tresses  ? 
"Come,  dears ! "  They  shyly  offer  hand,  Be- 
neath the  jasmine  trellis ;  "  Say  who  you  are, 
girls ; "  —  Charlotte,  and  Her  sister,  Caroline 
Ellis !  Sweet  Charlotte  hath  a  serious  face  —  A 
gaze  almost  parental ;  A  type  of  every  maiden 
grace,  But  a  wee  bit  sentimental.  Bright  Caro- 
line hath  eyes  that  dance,  While  buoyant  airs 
engirdle  her;  Her  playful  soul  may  love  ro- 
mance, But  not  a  creepy  curdler.  Sweet  Char- 
lotte's are  the  deep  gray  eyes  That  win  profound 
devotion ;  Bright  Carry's  flash,  like  azure  skies 
With  heliograph  in  motion.    As  merry  as  the 


As  tender  as  the  dews  of  May,  Or  apple  buds 
of  April.  Their  charms  are  safe  to  grow  more 
bright  For  at  least  two  lustra!  stages ;  And  so  it 


vintage 


dances  down  the  grape-rill; 


seems  not  unpolite  To  enquire  what  their  age  is. 

"  Last  May  I  was  fifteen/'  with  glee  Replies  the 
laughing  Garry;  Sage  Charlotte  adds,  "And  I 
shall  be  Seventeen,  next  February/*  To  the 
dining-room  we  walk  on  air,  Disdaining  jots 
and  tittles ;  To  feed  seems  such  a  low  affair  — 
And  yet,  hurrah  for  victuals !  Can  e'en  a  boy 
ply  knife  and  fork  In  presence  so  poetic,  Until 
the  Vicar  draws  a  cork,  And  gives  the  sniff 
prophetic?  And  when  the  evening  games  be- 
gan, Pope  Joan,  and  Speculation,  What  head 
could  keep  its  poise,  and  plan  With  the  heart  in 
palpitation  ?  Until,  in  soft  white-curtained  bed, 
We  sink  to  slumber  lowly,  And  angels  fan  the 
childish  head,  With  visions  sweet  and  holy. 

H  Now,  I  do  declare/'  exclaimed  our  host,  As  he 
strode  back  from  the  arish,  "Those  Railroad 
fellows  soon  will  boast  They  have  undermined 
my  parish*  Though  none  can  say  I  have  ever 
set  My  face  against  improvement,  I  cannot  quite 
perceive  as  yet  The  good  of  this  new  move- 
ment. Like  Hannibal,  these  folk  confound  All 
nature's  institutions,  And  shun,  with  a  great 
dive  underground,  Parochial  contributions. 
Come,  boys  and  girls,  let  us  see  their  craft, 
These  hills  of  Devon  will  task  it ;  'T  is  a  pretty 
walk  to  White-Ball  shaft,  If  the  boys  will  take 
a  basket.  Dear  wife,  if  your  poor  feet  are  right, 
The  miracles  of  this  cycle  Will  give  you  a  noble 
appetite  For  the  roast  goose  of  Saint  Michael/* 

I  zo 


In  a  twinkle,  we  had  baskets  twain  Of  the  right 
stuff  for  a  journey,  And  beautiful  gooseberry 
Champagne,  Superior  to  Epernay. 


What  myriad  joys  of  heart  and  mind  Flit  in 


to  see  how  kind  The  sun  looked  through  the 
leafage.  Can  the  heart  of  man  alone  be  dull, 
Or  the  mind  of  man  be  spiteful,  When  all  above 
is  beautiful,  And  all  below  delightful  ?  When 
Season  bright,  and  Season  rich  Make  bids 
against  each  other,  And  earth  uncertain  which 
is  which  Smiles  up  at  Nature  mother.  The 
copse,  the  lane,  the  meadow  path,  The  valleys, 
banks,  and  hedges  Were  green  with  summer's 
after-math,  And  gold  with  autumn's  pledges. 
Wild  rose  hung  coral  beads  above,  And  satch- 
el'd  nuts  grew  nigh  them,  Like  tips  of  a  little 
maiden's  glove,  Ere  ever  she  has  to  buy  them, 
But  ours  are  not  the  maids  to  bite  A  gore  or 
gusset  undone:  How  neat  they  look,  how  trim 
and  tight!  Those  frocks  were  made  in  Lon- 
don. Long  time  we  glance  in  awe  and  doubt, 
Suppressing  all  frivolity;  Till  the  spirit  of  the 
age  breaks  out,  And  all  is  mirth  and  jollity. 
One  flash,  that  stole  from  eyes  demure,  Hath 
scattered  all  convention;  And  then  a  pearly 
laugh  makes  sure  That  fun  is  her  intention. 
The  smiling  elders  march  ahead;  We  dance, 
without  a  fiddler,  We  play  at  cross-touch,  white 
and  red,  Tip-cat,  and  Tommy  Tidier.  We 


and  out  our  brief 


!    That  day  it  was  grand 


I  Z  I 


laugh  and  shout  much  more  than  speak;  No 
etiquette  importunes ;  The  trees  were  made  for 
hide-and-seek,,  The  flowers  to  tell  our  fortunes ; 
The  hills  for  pretty  girls  to  pant  And  glow  with 
richer  roses ;  The  wind  itself  to  toss  askant  The 
curls  that  hide  their  noses.  Then  sprightly 
Carry  shouts  in  French,  "All  boys  and  girls, 
come  nutting  I"  We  are  slipping  down  a 
mighty  trench — Why,  it  is  the  railway  cutting ! 
Before  us  yawns  a  dark-browed  arch,  Paved 
with  a  muddy  runnel ;  A  thousand  giant  nav- 
vies march,  To  delve  the  White-Ball  tunnel 
Now,  if  a  man  of  them  but  did  Presume  to 
glance  at  Carry,  Though  he  were  Milo,  or 
John  Ridd,  I  would  toss  him  to  Old  Harry, 
I  pull  my  jacket  off,  like  him  Who  would 
shatter  England's  pillars  —  From  the  tunnel 
comes  an  order  grim,  uGet  out  the  way,  you 
chillers ! " 

********* 

And  the  same  stern  order  doth  apply  To  the 
pranks  of  this  remote  age ;  We  are  sure  alike  to 
be  thrust  by  In  our  nonage  and  our  dotage. 
Yet  who  shall  grudge  the  tranquil  age  When 
naught  can  now  betide  ill,  To  glance,  from  a 
distant  hermitage,  At  a  summer  morning  idyll  ? 

********* 

Oh,  agony,  despair,  and  woe !  Oh,  two-edged 
sword  to  us  come!  To  Blundelfs  must  the 
body  go,  While  the  heart  remains  at  Buscombe, 
All  breakfast  time,  how  glum  we  looked;  Our 


tears  were  threatening  dribblets ;  Too  truly  had 
our  goose  been  cooked,  To  leave  us  e'en  the 
giblets.  Sweet  Charlotte,  did  you  share  the 
thrill,  The  pang  no  throat  may  utter,  And 
strive  an  aching  void  to  fill  With  heartless  toast 
and  butter  ?  And  were  you  sad,  bright  Caro- 
line, Although  you  never  said  so?  You  did 
cast  down  your  lovely  eyne,  And  you  crumbled 
up  your  bread  so !  But  the  Vicar's  views  were 
more  sublime,  As  he  asked,  in  all  simplicity, 
"  My  youthful  friends,  what  is  the  prime  Of  all 
mundane  felicity  ? "  My  answer,  though  it 
sounded  cool,  Was  given  with  trepidation  — 
"  To  stay  at  home,  and  send  to  school  The 
rising  generation."  A  gentle  smile  flits  o'er  his 
lip,  He  eyes  me  with  benignity ;  He  yearns  to 
offer  goodly  tip,  Yet  fears  to  wound  my  dignity. 
True  benefactor,  be  not  shy,  Thou  seest  a 
humble  fellow;  Thy  noble  impulse  gratify  — 
My  stars!  if  it  isn't  yellow! 


But  time  is  over,  and  above,  To  end  this  charm- 
ing visit ;  And  must  we  part,  my  own  true  love  ? 
Though  I  am  not  sure  which  is  it.  Sweet 
Charlotte  lingered  in  the  shade,  Most  gentle  of 
all  houris;  Bright  Carry  in  the  lobby  played 
With  a  pair  of  polished  cowries.  She  snowed 
me  how  alike  they  were,  So  heaven  had  pleased 


the  pair,  She  ne'er  could  separate  them.  I 

blushed  and  stammered  at  her  touch ;  I  feared 

1 23 


to  mate 


fortune  might  divide 


to  beg  for  either ;  My  heart  was  in  my  mouth 
so  much  I  could  say  "  Good-bye  "  to  neither. 


Two  strings  are  wise  for  every  bow,  To  meet 
the  change  of  weather ;  And  Cupid's  shafts  give 
softer  blow  When  two  are  tied  together.  Oh 
Charlotte  sweet,  and  Carry  bright,  My  whole, 
or  double-half  love,  Let  no  maturer  wisdom 
slight  A  simple  tale  of  calf-love.  A  blessing  on 
the  maiden  grace  Fhat  beautifies  the  real,  To 
make  the  world  a  fairer  place,  And  lift  the  low 
ideal.  If  one,  or  both,  by  any  chance,  Espy 
what  I  confess  here,  Make  auld  lang  syne  of 
young  romance  By  sending  your  address  here. 
And  answer  —  as  I  trust  you  can,  When  time  is 
flying  faster,  That  he  hath  served  you  better 
than  Your  humble  poetaster, 


POSTSCRIPT  (A  Fact) 
This  have  they  done  — and  oh,  by  Jove,  Not 
altered  by  a  fraction;  I  then  they  were  too 
sweet  to  love,  What  are  they  now  ?  Distrac- 
tion. Of  course,  they  must  be  ever  young ;  How 
could  I  be  so  stupid  ?  Time  fell  in  love  with 
both,  and  flung  His  calendar  to  Cupid. 

125 


EPILOGUE 


TO  FAME  (1894) 


I 


RIGHT  Fairy  of  the  morn, 
with  flowers  arrayed, 
Whose  beauties  to  thy 
young  pursuer  seem  Be- 
j  yond  the  ecstasy  of  poet's 
dream  —  Shall  I  overtake  I 
thee  ere  thy  lustre  fade  ? 

n 

  I  Ripe  glory  of  the  noon, 

august  and  proud,  A  vision  of  high  purpose, 
power,  and  skill,  Dissolving  into  mirage  of 
good-will — Do  I  o'ertake  thee,  or  embrace  a| 
cloud  ? 

m 

Gray  shadow  of  the  evening,  gaunt  and  bare, 
At  random  cast,  beyond  me  or  above,  And  cold 
as  memory  in  the  arms  of  love  —  If  I  overtook  | 
thee  now,  what  should  I  care  ? 

IV 

"  No  morn,  or  noon,  or  eve,  am  I,"  she  said, 
"  But  night  —  the  depth  of  night  behind  the  sun, 
By  all  mankind  pursued ;  but  never  won,  Until  | 
my  shadow  falls  upon  a  shade." 


